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Running head: ENCHANTMENT: A TELEOLOGY 1

Enchantment: A Teleology

Nathanael S. Toth

A Senior Thesis submitted in partial fulfillment

of the requirements for graduation

in the Honors Program

Liberty University

Spring 2019

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ENCHANTMENT: A TELEOLOGY 2

Acceptance of Senior Honors Thesis

This Senior Honors Thesis is accepted in partial

fulfillment of the requirements for graduation from the

Honors Program of Liberty University.

______________________________

Carl Curtis, Ph.D.

Thesis Chair

______________________________

Stephen Bell, Ph.D.

Committee Member

______________________________

Ronnie Campbell, Ph.D.

Committee Member

______________________________

Mark Ray Schmidt, Ph.D.

Assistant Honors Director

______________________________

Date


Abstract

Despite the highly developed nature of his fictional world, Middle-earth, Tolkien never

formally laid out a tabulated magic system for his fantasy creation. Nevertheless, unlike

many stories by others in the fantasy genre, the magic he does include is far from just a

shallow, world-building mechanism. Instead, it encapsulates the core theme of his fiction

and the purposes which Ilúvatar (the God of Middle-earth) has given to the story’s many

characters.

This paper will examine the nature and function of this magic from many angles:

the identification of good magic with art and evil magic with domination; the delineation

between good and evil magics; the source of magic; the intricate relation between magic

and the inner being of the individual; the connection between magic and the activity of

Ilúvatar; and the status of magic as a multi-level, self-conscious contemplation of Story

itself. In other words, this paper will be a teleology of magic, an exploration of Tolkien’s

purpose and meaning for this power in his work.


Contents

Middle-earth: The Birth of Modern Fantasy ....................................................................... 5

The Nature of Magic ........................................................................................................... 7

Enchantment and Force..................................................................................................... 13

The Source of Power ......................................................................................................... 20

External Powers ................................................................................................................ 26

The Flame Imperishable ................................................................................................... 31

The Musics of the Ainur ................................................................................................... 40

The Gift of “Being” .......................................................................................................... 49

A Conjunctive Sub-creation .............................................................................................. 52

The Telos of Enchantment ................................................................................................ 60

The Dunamis of Enchantment .......................................................................................... 64

The Growth of Enchantment ............................................................................................. 69

Tolkien’s Enchanted Tale ................................................................................................. 76

The Spell ........................................................................................................................... 78

Works Cited ...................................................................................................................... 81

Appendix: List of Abbreviations ...................................................................................... 86


Enchantment: A Teleology

Of this desire the elves, in their better (but still perilous) part, are largely

made; and it is from them that we may learn what is the central desire and

aspiration of human fantasy – even as the elves are, all the more in so far

as they are, only a product of Fantasy itself. (“On Fairy-Stories” 64)

I have not used ‘magic’ consistently . . . But the elves are there (in my

tales) to demonstrate the difference. Their ‘magic’ is Art, delivered from

its many human limitations . . . (The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien 146)

Middle-earth: The Birth of Modern Fantasy

On October 20, 1955, J.R.R. Tolkien published the final instalment of his famous trilogy,

The Lord of the Rings—a work that has been widely celebrated as inaugurating the birth

of the modern fantasy genre. Since that year, a veritable flood of further material by

Tolkien has enriched his world of Middle-earth through the form of additional tales,

private essays pertaining to his creation, and earlier drafts of his work. Tolkien’s

continued popularity, no doubt, is connected with the rise in popularity of the fantasy

genre, which continues to reflect his influence to this day. From Terry Brooks’ highly

derivative The Sword of Shannara to the orcs (and many other elements) in the online-

game World of Warcraft, novelists, screenwriters, and game-developers have borrowed

and transformed elements of Middle-earth for decades.

In the wide range of these works, perhaps the single most consistently recurring

element is the presence of magic (even when technically absent by traditional standards,

magic may still appear through parallel substitutions such as genetic powers or science

and technology). Most other elements seem optional, whether they be the traditional cast

of elves, dwarves, or talking trees; secondary worlds; cataclysmic threats at the hands of a

dark lord; or other common tropes of the genre. Regardless of how one may delineate this

literature’s extent and draw generic boundaries, there must always be a means for


creating the fantastic in fantasy. And yet, this “means for creating the fantastic” —i.e.,

magic—varies widely. In World of Warcraft, magic can be drawn from the natural world;

in Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance Cycle, from the life-force within a person; in

Brooks’ The Wishsong of Shannara, from science (in minor instances); in Wayne

Thomas Batson’s The Berinfell Prophecies, from genetic abilities. Its manifestations

range from vague, nebulous forces to highly structured rules for use. The discussion

among the fantasy community on creating whole “magic systems” testifies to the

diversity and essential importance of the magical element.

Thus, in light of Tolkien’s connection to modern fantasy, a full consideration of

his work should explore the presence of magic within his created world. Given the

immense extent of his world-building (including the creation of multiple original

languages), one may then be surprised to discover no formal development of a “magic

system” for Middle-earth. Tolkien himself writes, “I am afraid I have been far too casual

about ‘magic’ and especially the use of the word,” calling the consideration of this term

“a [very] large question, and difficult,” and saying that he “could hardly be burdened with

a pseudo-philosophic disquisition” on the subject given the nature of his story (Letters

199). Elsewhere, he remarks, “I have not used ‘magic’ consistently” (Letters 146). These

statements somewhat parallel his comment in the well-known essay, “On Fairy-Stories,”

that he had misapplied the term “magic” in the earlier arguments of the essay (142).

However, despite the lack of intricately tabulated rules for the arcane powers of Middle-

earth, Tolkien’s views on the subject are far from negligible. For him, magic means more

than a mere plot device; instead, it bears theological implications and treats questions of


human creativity, the nature of evil, the teleology of the created order, and the relation of

the present world to the life to come.

The Nature of Magic

In his writings, Tolkien employs many labels to denote the magical powers of his story-

characters. Some of the major terms are: magic, Magic (capital M), Enchantment, Art,

goeteia, and magia. Throughout, Tolkien always seems to have maintained a distinction

between good magic on the one hand, and bad magic on the other. However, beyond this

recognition, there appears to be much confusion (or silence) in the critical literature as to

the specific applications and scope of these terms. Flieger, for example, seems to argue in

one essay that real magic bears little relevance to Lord of the Rings at all. As she says,

“out of eleven hundred or so pages” there is “not a great deal of fantasy” (FR 8).1 She

then proceeds to explain away many of the few magical instances she finds: the elven

cloaks and rope, lembas, the Phial of Galadriel, and even much of the power

demonstrated by the Ring.

Perry fares a little better in his own examination, overviewing several instances

(in his opinion) of magia and goeteia in Lord of the Rings (400). However, he falls short

in that he does not adequately characterize the relation of these terms to Tolkien’s

concept of Art. (Perry leaves magia out of this relation altogether.) The significance of

both terms as modes of Art will be seen later. Likewise, Curry tackles Tolkien’s idea of

Enchantment, contributing much to the sense of “imagined wonder” that Tolkien wished

to communicate with the term—an insight that Shippey lauds him for elsewhere (7).

Nevertheless, Curry also argues that Enchantment does not directly affect the real,

1 For “FR” and all other abbreviations, see the appendix provided at the end of this paper.


physical world (“Enchantment” 160). Again, as will be seen, such an idea misses a

significant part of Tolkien’s intent for his story world.

In his published materials, Tolkien addresses the topic of magic in three major

instances: Letters 131 and 155 in Carpenter’s The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien and in “On

Fairy-Stories.” In Letter 155 to Naomi Mitchinson,2 Tolkien forthrightly states that “the

thought about it [magic] is not casual” (199), no matter how casual his word choices

about it had been in Lord of the Rings. He goes on to make a distinction between magia

and goeteia forms of magic in his work, of which magia appears to produce physical

effects in the real world while goeteia creates illusions (though not necessarily ones

meant to deceive). Here Tolkien draws a key point in his vision for the magic system of

his cosmology: Both forms are used by good and evil forces in his story. Only motivation

for use makes the magic good or evil.

Of the possible motivations, Tolkien highlights two polarities: domination and

artistry. The former he links to the idea of machinery (a recurrent theme), to swift results,

and to a possible degeneration into cruelty if the original purpose for domination is

forgotten. In this letter, however, artistry receives little consideration; for that, one may

look to Letter 131, a longer piece written a few years earlier to Milton Waldman about

The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. In it, he writes that his cosmology “is mainly

concerned with Fall, Mortality, and the Machine,” to which he adds the footnote, “It is, I

suppose, fundamentally concerned with the problem of the relation of Art (and Sub-

2 A drafted portion which was not sent. The sent letter is dated 25 September 1954.


creation3) and Primary Reality” (145). Thus, by his own admission, the question of

artistry is perhaps the driving motivation of his creative work.

It should come as no surprise that Tolkien weds this consideration of art to the

magic which so pervades his story world. He considered the two as being closely akin. Of

authorial artistry in particular, he writes:

But how powerful . . . was the invention of the adjective: no spell or incantation in

Faërie is more potent . . . The mind that thought of light, heavy, grey, yellow, still,

swift, also conceived of magic that would make heavy things light and able to fly,

turn grey lead into yellow gold, and the still rock into swift water. (OFS 41)

In his letter to Waldman, Tolkien also explicitly describes how his use of the term

“magic” has been “inconsistent.” In the Lord of the Rings and his other fantasy stories,

Tolkien is not clear on whether “magic” can be used to describe all arcane powers, or if

the term should be reserved for only those powers that are evil. The best example of such

ambiguity comes with the Lady Galadriel’s words to Sam: “For this is what your folk

would call magic, I believe; though I do not understand clearly what they mean; and they

seem to use the same word of the deceits of the Enemy” (FOTR 353). Indeed, in both

letters, Tolkien points to this very moment of the story to demonstrate that distinguishing

between different types of magic is necessary.

For clarity’s sake in the Waldman letter, Tolkien sets aside the term “magic,”

capitalizes it, and uses it to denote the evil use of power. For him, “Magic” is a tool of

domination. As to the good power of the Elves, however, “there is not a word” to

3 “Sub” because this type of creation refers to the work of individuals who themselves have been

created by the prime creator—God.


describe it. Tolkien settles for the term “Art,” though of a manner “delivered from many

of its human limitations: more effortless, more quick, more complete (product, and vision

in unflawed correspondence)” (146). Neither of these letters employs the term

“Enchantment,” which Tolkien had developed some years earlier in “On Fairy-Stories.”

However, since in this essay Tolkien clearly uses this term to describe the artistic powers

of his elves, Enchantment will likewise be used in the following examination to denote

the good, arcane powers of Tolkien’s world. By the same token, Magic will be used to

denote those powers which are evil.

At first glance the definition of Enchantment is disappointing in scope. According

to Tolkien, “Enchantment produces a Secondary World into which both designer and

spectator can enter, to the satisfaction of their desires while they are inside; but in its

purity it is artistic in desire and purpose” (OFS 64). Previously, he has defined a

secondary world as a story with “the inner consistency of reality” (60-1) —called Fantasy

when such authorial creativity is practiced by men. When practiced by the elves, it

becomes the more powerful “Faërian Drama” where for the spectator, “you yourself are,

or think that you are, bodily inside its Secondary World” (63). Faërian Drama, then, is a

more specified term for the elves’ goeteia, their power to create illusions (in this case, the

illusion of experiencing a drama as if it were real). Notwithstanding the efficacy of this

elvish craft, unless one wishes to relegate all wonderous actions of Tolkien’s elves to

figments of the imagination, defining Enchantment as merely the creation of a vivid

secondary world will not suffice. The elves must also have magia, a means to touch

reality.


While not explicitly stated as so in Tolkien’s letter to Mitchinson, this magia also

should be understood as a component of Enchantment. With “On Fairy-Stories,” Tolkien

defines Enchantment as the higher, elvish form of Art, which he describes as “the human

process that produces by the way (it is not its ultimate or only object) Secondary Belief”

(64). Again, by its focus on secondary belief, such a statement appears to restrict itself

solely to the art of story-telling. However, Tolkien begins his statement by saying “Art

is,” not “the story-telling art is”; in other words, he equates Enchantment to art-in-general

and not just a specified art-form. A better reading of his definition would accept

Enchantment as applying to all forms of art, and understand Tolkien’s discussion of

story-telling as merely one example of that application. A brief consideration of

Tolkien’s stories demonstrates that his elves indeed use magia in their art.

Fëanor, perhaps, is the earliest major example of such an artist in the history of

Middle-earth. He crafted the Silmarils, holy jewels of light—a tangible and non-illusory

example of artistry. As Tolkien states in his letter to Waldman, “By the making of the

gems the sub-creative function of the elves is chiefly symbolized” (Letters 148). Some of

the light from these gems would later be caught in the Phial of Galadriel, a beautifully

wrought object which, among accomplishing other things, subsequently shatters the gates

of a fortress during Frodo and Sam’s escape from Cirith Ungol (an occurrence not

illusory by any stretch of the imagination). There is also the more mundane example of

Sam’s elven rope, which on one occasion mysteriously unties itself after use as Frodo and

Sam wander through Emyn Muil.

For most people, rope will never fall under what they consider “Art.” Even if one

broadens art from the story-telling discussed by Tolkien to include tangible objects such


as paintings, tapestries, and sculpting, most would draw a line between what they

consider a tool and what they consider aesthetic. With Tolkien, however, one may better

understand his idea of art as one that is synonymous with craftsmanship—which would

include everything from shoemaking to composing Handel’s Messiah. Of this sense,

Smith of Wootton Major provides a prime example. While not included in Tolkien’s far-

encompassing canon of Middle-earth, Smith represents, in the words of Verlyn Flieger,

Tolkien’s “latest, purest, and most uncompromising presentation of that world [Faërie],”

which he originally expressed in “On Fairy-stories” (“Afterword” 68).4

As Tolkien writes in his personal essay about Smith, the townspeople of Wootton

Major consist “mainly of craftsmen” in a time “before the advent of power-machinery”

(Smith 112). The statement is far from an innocuous comment on the setting. For Tolkien,

the Machine was the chief symbol of power and domination, associated especially with

Morgoth, Sauron, and Saruman in his fictive works and likewise denounced in “On

Fairy-Stories.” As seen earlier in his letter to Waldman, Tolkien considered the Machine

to be one of the major concerns of his writings. By telling a story of pre-Industrial

Revolution craftsmen, Tolkien is thereby consciously taking a major ideological position.

The conflict in Smith is not one against Machine and totalitarian domination on the scale

of the great wars in Middle-earth. Instead, the problem lies with possessiveness—a petty

form of domination—that has shifted the craftsman’s focus from skilled labor to mere

4 In “On Fairy-stories,” Tolkien writes: “Faërie itself may perhaps most nearly be translated by

Magic – but it is a magic of a peculiar mode and power, at the furthest pole from the vulgar devices of the

laborious, scientific, magician” (32-3). At this point in his essay, Tolkien has not yet separated Magic from

Enchantment, but clearly from this statement he intended Faërie to represent the latter.


profit. This change has not only resulted in the virtual elimination of the fine arts in the

village, but also in the declining quality of their more practical products (Smith 127-9).

In short, the whole of Smith deals heavily with the link between artistry and

craftsmanship, a point which can be seen illustrated in the character of Smith himself.

Smith is by trade, as his name suggests, a blacksmith and not a practitioner of the fine

arts; yet a rejuvenation of his craft is part of the larger plan of Faërie to breathe new

creative artistry and life into the whole village and its various occupations. Of the “plain

and useful” items wrought by Smith, Tolkien writes: “They were strong and lasting, but

they also had a grace about them, being shapely in their kinds, good to handle and to look

at” (Smith 17). This statement may be taken as a snapshot of Tolkien’s broad theme of

Art, which extends to the works of the artisan and not just the artist.

Enchantment and Force

Taken in full, then, elven Enchantment must include both goeteia and magia forms.

Recognizing that art encompasses all of craftsmanship helps to explain why many

instances of Enchantment (or good “magic”) in Middle-earth do not accord with usual

notions of artistry. By this new definition, Enchantment might easily broaden to include

everything from the lightning that Gandalf brings down on goblins in The Hobbit to the

mirror of Galadriel in Fellowship of the Ring. Craftsmanship, after all, produces tools for

both life and war, as Tolkien recognized in Smith: “in time he could have forged weapons

that in his own world would have had power enough to become the matter of great tales

and be worth a king’s ransom” (20).

However, that Smith, the moral protagonist of the tale, does not forge such

weapons suggests a difficulty in the relationship between the craftsman’s work and war:


As mentioned earlier, Tolkien emphasized that both good and evil magics are identical in

source; their only difference stems from the purposes for which they are used. The

present question at stake is whether motivations for war cross the threshold between

artistry and domination, altering one’s use of magia or goeteia from Enchantment to

Magic. Regardless of the material one works with, a craftsman may always create

beneficial and skillful products solely intended for peaceful use. War, however, is

necessarily the work of force; destruction is its immediate result, not the creativity that is

at the center of Art. One must therefore consider whether Enchantment only applies to

non-martial employments.

Ultimately, the difficulty revolves around the question of Power, which provides

the key distinctive between Enchantment and Magic that Tolkien develops in “On Fairy-

Stories.” Tolkien writes: “Enchantment . . . in its purity is artistic in desire and purpose.

Magic produces, or pretends to produce, an alteration in the Primary World . . . it is not

an art but a technique; its desire is power in this world, domination of things and wills”

(64). In his letter to Waldman, Tolkien describes this “desire” as the result of a fall from

goodness, reiterating its connection to domination and “coercing other wills” (145-6).

Such a description accords neatly with the characteristics of the One Ring, the prime

weapon of evil in Tolkien’s trilogy. As Dickerson writes, “the power of the One Ring is

the power to dominate other wills” (HJ 108). This is what Boromir means when he says

the Ring will confer the “power of command” (FOTR 389) —as Dickerson notes (HJ

110), and also why Frodo can threaten Gollum, saying that he will command him to leap

to a fiery death in Mount Doom (TT 626). It is why Gollum finally does perish in that

manner after Frodo wields the Ring against him (ROTK 922). As Dickerson argues, such


a use of force to dominate other wills is seen by Tolkien as distinctly evil (HJ 114-125).

Hence, one may question whether employing Enchantment in an exercise of power would

be off limits in Middle-earth.

And yet, Tolkien’s good characters do use magical power in occasional displays

of force. As noted earlier, Gandalf blasts goblins with lightning in The Hobbit; he also

makes a display of power against the Ringwraiths upon Weathertop. Moreover, as Frodo

escapes across the ford into Rivendell, Elrond raises the river behind him while Gandalf

hurls boulders down on his pursuers. Later on, Galadriel reveals that her ring of power

allows her to spy out Sauron’s intentions concerning the elves. Similarly, the Palantíri

which appear in the trilogy are Seeing Stones fashioned by the elves for communication

and for viewing far away lands. The craft that produced them may easily be identified as

Enchantment and as useful for aesthetic appreciation, just as a tall tower may be used

both to gaze in wonder upon the sea and to watch for the sails of enemies. Nevertheless,

the Palantíri also become used for martial surveillance. The Phial of Galadriel is another

matter as well: in the course of the story, it is used both to fend off the monstrous spider

Shelob and to break free from Cirith Ungol. Further examples may be drawn from The

Silmarillion, with Finrod who musters his power to resist Sauron “with a song of staying”

(171) and with Lúthien and her enchanted cloak that she uses to breach the very court of

Morgoth.

Dickerson takes up this question of power by highlighting his partial

disagreement with T.A. Shippey’s view of the subject, which holds that “all power” is

“corruptive” and hence attempts to explain the danger and evil of the Ring. Dickerson

demurs: “It is possible, Tolkien’s narrative suggests, to be both powerful and good!”


Among his examples that follow, he includes the three elven rings of power, which

remained uncorrupted by Sauron (HJ 88-9). According to him, it is not power itself that is

evil, but “rather power for the sake of power—that is, power for no other reason than to

be powerful and to exercise power. It is the idea of power as an end rather than a means.”

The elven rings, he says, are always used towards “some other end, such as protecting the

lives and freedom of others or preserving beauty and peace” (HJ 111). Dickerson’s

conclusion thus centers the evil of the Ring in its ultimate focus on merely attaining

power and in the consequent domination of other wills that comes with that attainment.

Thus, when Tolkien elsewhere writes that “its [Magic’s] desire is power” (OFS

64), one solution may be to interpret that “power” as the dominating, all-consuming lust

described by Dickerson. Other uses of power, which are beneficent and not selfish, and

which preserve the free will of the individual, may be classified as Enchantment. These

uses may be forceful, if used to resist evil from dominating and subjugating others. In this

way, Enchantment becomes not a mode of destruction, but a stay against that which

would destroy. An analogy here may be drawn to just war theory, which characterizes

Faramir’s approach to violence. As he tells Frodo, “I love not the sword for its sharpness

nor the arrow for its swiftness. I love only that which they defend.”5 The power of

Enchantment likewise may be seen as preserving the beauty and art which evil seeks to

dominate; by so preserving them, Enchantment is identified with their goals rather than

with destruction. The discussion of defensive force leads to another observation about the

distinction between Enchantment and Magic with relation to the improvement of the

5 Dickerson notes the importance of this dialogue in his examination of Tolkien’s views on war

(HJ 74).


world. Enchantment never coerces individuals or things towards improvement; at most, it

restrains them from impinging upon the free development of others. Magic, however, in

prioritizing quick results above all else, forces improvement (or what it sees as

improvement) whether or not its object consents to the course of action.

With this distinction in mind, one may contemplate the somewhat cavalier way in

which Dickerson has treated the three elven rings of power. He has presented them as

uncorrupted by Sauron, used for good purposes—and that is true, in a sense. However, as

Tolkien indicates, it is very nearly not true. In his letter to Waldman he writes:

But at Eregion great work began – and the Elves came their nearest to falling to

‘magic’ and machinery. With the aid of Sauron’s lore they made Rings of Power

(‘power’ is an ominous and sinister word in all these tales, except as applied to the

[the Valar]).

The chief power (of all the rings alike) was the prevention or slowing of decay

(i.e. ‘change’ viewed as a regrettable thing), the preservation of what is desired or

loved, or its semblance – this is more or less an Elvish motive. But they also

enhanced the natural powers of a possessor – thus approaching ‘magic,’ a motive

easily corrupted into evil, a lust for domination. (152)

Earlier, Tolkien refers to the Elvish actions of this period as “a sort of second fall or at

least ‘error.’” Against the counsel of the Valar, they lingered in Middle-earth—though

Tolkien does not view this as anything “wrong essentially.” Their true error lies in their

response to the world that was changing around them: “They became sad, and their art

(shall we say) antiquarian, and their efforts all really a kind of embalming” (151). The

error or sin behind these actions is alluded to in the letter still earlier: Of the Elves,


Tolkien writes, “Their Fall is into possessiveness and (to a less degree) into perversion of

their art to power” (146). In this case, the Elves’ love for the old beauty of Middle-earth

resulted in “clinging to the things made as ‘its own’ (145); for the Elves had labored

much for “the adornment of the earth” and grieved to see the “fading” of that adornment

(151).

In this understandable spirit of possessiveness, the Elves created the rings to grant

them power to preserve their work against the tides of time. However, as Tolkien states,

their actions constitute merely “a kind of embalming,” or an artificial prolonging of

something whose time has passed and should be permitted pass on. Such a motive is

well-intentioned, but misguided and ultimately destructive, as evidenced by all the mortal

ringbearers in the tale. For those who bear the rings long enough to show any significant

effect, they experience incredibly lengthened lives. However, they also undergo a gradual

and progressive “fading.” Hence Bilbo’s comment that he feels “like butter that has been

scraped over too much bread” (FOTR 32). His life has been stretched beyond natural

limits and, like anything spread over a wide enough area, has begun to disappear.

Gollum’s five-hundred-year life with the Ring shows that such “fading” will not happen

quickly, but his character in The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings is only a shadow of his

former self, and effectively demonstrates the long-term results of possessing the Ring.

The Ringwraiths themselves provide the best example. Nine mortal men each given one

of the elven rings by Sauron, they have faded from all mortal sight and their forms can

only be descried by the shape of their black cloaks.

The example of the creation of the Rings of Power, this “second fall” of the Elves,

reveals the precarious, dangerous possibilities whenever Enchantment is used as an


imposition of power for any purpose other than traditional artistry. It would be reasonable

to assume that such caution should apply to uses in war, which is what Tolkien seems to

suggest when he writes to Mitchinson: “But his magia he [Sauron] uses to bulldoze both

people and things,” while “[t]heir magia the Elves and Gandalf use (sparingly)” (200).

Other than directly for art, the Wise use magia “sparingly” because they are deeply aware

of the perils involved, as illustrated above. There is also evidence that Tolkien rejected

large displays of magical force for other reasons. One may take, for instance, his relation

towards the “aeroplane,” especially when used as a weapon of war. It might seem (as it

likely does to most people) that the aeroplane is a perfectly legitimate form of combat

when used to resist evil and protect goodness. However, for Tolkien, its result has been

“a mass-production of slaughter” (OFS 276). He speaks of the “hundreds of thousands of

men, women, and children . . . blown to rags and burned, and half the remaining beautiful

things of saner centuries with them.” (OFS 277).

And yet even these comments preceded the American deployment of the atom

bomb against Hiroshima and Nagasaki. While aeroplanes he had characterized as

“saurian monsters” (OFS 276), in his forward to the second edition of Lord of the Rings,

he implies that the atom bomb stands in the same class of destructive evil as does the

Ring (FOTR xiv-xv).6 In a 9 August 1945 letter to his son Christopher, he writes, “The

news today about ‘Atomic bombs’ is so horrifying one is stunned.” He concludes by

noting that “. . . He [God] does not look kindly on Babel-builders” (Letters 116). Babel,

of course, refers to the attempt by man to reach beyond their natural, human power to

6 While implicitly comparing the evil of the two, Tolkien is very clear that the Ring is not an

allegory for the bomb.


rival and usurp the authority of God. That Tolkien so viewed mechanical weapons of

mass destruction, even when used for ostensibly good ends, sheds light on his reason for

limited use of Enchantment in war, and also for why he equated Magic and the

Machine—used for “bulldozing the real world” —with the forces of evil.

The Source of Power

Thus far, focus has been given to identifying basic characteristics of the good

Enchantment and evil Magic in Tolkien’s works; both have been seen to draw from the

same power and affect the world in categorically similar ways (through magia or

goeteia). Their difference derives from moral questions about their motivation and use.

Nothing has yet been said, however, regarding the derivation of such powers.

As stated earlier in the introduction, one significant distinctive of magic systems

is their source: where they obtain the energy for their mysterious activities. In their book,

From Homer to Harry Potter, Dickerson and O’Hara delineate several types of such

systems that appear in modern fantasy (HHP 234-9). Magic may be either internally

derived (where power resides within individuals) or externally derived (where individuals

draw from powers outside of themselves). The latter category may be further broken

down to the external inanimate (where such power is drawn from forces of nature) or the

external personal (where such power is drawn from other beings). One might add to their

categorization by dividing internal sources into those which are obtained genetically (i.e.,

materially) and those which are drawn from mysterious powers of the soul (i.e.,

spiritually). Once again, despite his lack of a formal magic system, Tolkien is not silent

about how his world relates to these categories.


In examining sources of power, one may return to Tolkien’s elven rings (all of

them, not just the Three), which he says, “enhanced the natural powers of a possessor”

(Letters 152). Since the rings and their power are magical, such a statement seems to

assume that individuals already possess some similar source of power which is then

“enhanced” by the rings. This would seem to demonstrate that Tolkien included some

sort of internal power in his system of magic. Such a view is supported by the Mitchinson

letter, where he states: “Anyway, a difference in the use of ‘magic’ in this story is that it

is not to be come by by [sic] ‘lore’ or spells; but is an inherent power not possessed or

attainable by Men as such” (Letters 200). His mention of “internal power” certainly

seems to accord with the distinction made by Dickerson and O’Hara. However, his “not

possessed or attainable by Men” provides an immediate difficulty, for some of these rings

were gifted by Sauron to “nine mortal men” —sorcerer kings who would later become

the fearsome Ringwraiths.

With these words one encounters a recurrent challenge when interpreting Tolkien:

his tendency to revise or “retcon” elements of his created world to be more consistent

with his philosophical leanings. (Major examples include reworking the solar myth which

underpins the Silmarillion and rethinking his origins for orcs). Not surprisingly, the

editor’s endnote to this letter states: “Alongside the final paragraph, Tolkien has written:

‘But the Númenóreans used “spells” in making swords?’” (Letters 445). Discrepancies

like these testify to the importance of searching for the consistent thought-patterns and

dispositions of Tolkien, which underlie his statements and artistic decisions. In this spirit,

one may take the uncertainty voiced in the comment about Númenórean swords as

indicative of a larger uncertainty and lack of finality regarding the magic of men in


general; therefore, such problems may be set aside as an anomaly to be explored later.

What does not seem to be uncertain is Tolkien’s emphasis on “inherent power” as a

significant part of his story world.

Dickerson and O’Hara identify Gandalf as an example of this category, albeit

only in passing (235). They devote a somewhat longer passage to examining the

“inherent power” of Aragorn, evidenced especially in his role as a healer (235).

Understandably, the authors have neither time nor space to consider the earlier mentioned

problem with Aragorn as a mortal user of magical powers. Tolkien himself, however,

addresses this difficulty in the Mitchinson letter, noting that Aragorn is of distant Elvish

descent, and so “not a pure ‘Man’” (Letters 200). In other words, his ancestry may allow

him strange abilities not possessed by normal members of humanity.

However, a more interesting case not discussed by Dickerson and O’Hara is that

of Glorfindel, an elf so powerful as to be among the few that might “ride openly against

the Nine” (FOTR 205). When Frodo first sees him, it seems as if “a white light was

shining though the form and raiment of the rider, as if though a thin veil” (204). Later,

after his escape across the Ford of Rivendell, Frodo once again sees him as “a shining

figure of white light” with the “small shadowy forms” of his companions (209). As

Gandalf later explains, “those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm7 live at once in both

worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power” (216) —a

designation that would include Glorfindel. Frodo’s vision of him was “as he is upon the

other side: one of the mighty of the Firstborn” (217). By “the Seen and the Unseen,”

Gandalf quite obviously means the material and the spiritual aspects of reality, a position

7 The realm of the Valar. Also called “Aman.”


made clear by his connecting these two categories with different “worlds.” Such an

interpretation is further supported by his earlier statement that Frodo was “half in the

wraith-world” while wearing the ring (216). The same opposition between spiritual and

material may be seen in the Waldman letter, where the Rings of Power have the effect of

“rendering invisible the material body, and making things of the invisible world visible”

(152). Therefore, by stating that Glorfindel was revealed “as he is upon the other side,”

Gandalf indicates that the imagery of light is a visible display of Glorfindel’s inner being.

As such light is used to connote the great power that Glorfindel wields against the Nine,

one must reasonably assume that Glorfindel’s source of Enchantment is the power of his

soul.

A note attached to the story of Finwë and Míriel in Morgoth’s Ring supports this

view. Tolkien writes: “And those in whom the fëa [spirit] is strong and untainted, they

say, appear even to mortal eyes to shine at times translucent (albeit faintly), as though a

lamp burned within” (250). In other writings, Tolkien again refers to Glorfindel

specifically, suggesting that the character in Lord of the Rings is the same Glorfindel who

was slain during the fall of Gondolin, later reincarnated in the Blessed Realm by the

Valar. In this version of his story, Glorfindel’s “spiritual power had been greatly

enhanced by his self-sacrifice” when slain in the defense of fugitives from the doomed

city (PME 381). In earlier notes, Tolkien also states that his long sojourn in the Blessed

Realm, where the remaining elves dwelt in “primitive innocence,” also contributed to this

great power (PME 378). Nor are these statements unaligned with Tolkien’s other

developments of his cosmology. In another text from Morgoth’s Ring, he mentions that

“The Elves certainly held and taught that fëar or ‘spirits’ may grow of their own life


(independently of the body), even as they may be hurt and healed, be diminished and

renewed” (404).8 By this token, Glorfindel is a character of exceptional power in Lord of

the Rings because his soul (the source of his power) has itself grown in the spiritually

nourishing act of self-sacrifice and subsequent sojourn in the “holy land” of the Valar.

Using soul-power as a story element would actually accord with Tolkien’s

Christian philosophical disposition, which must view mankind as a body/soul duality (as

opposed to merely a material body). In this duality, belief in the immaterial mind or soul

necessitates acceptance of some unexplained means by which the soul can physically

affect matter: Thoughts must somehow cause neurons to fire in the brain, which then

commands the body to move. It is this activity of the metaphysical soul upon physical

matter that allows the concept of free will. Otherwise, one’s thoughts would be nothing

more than the chemical processes in one’s brain.

In The Problem of Pain, Tolkien’s friend C.S. Lewis took this idea of soul-

influence yet further with his formulation of the pre-Fall “Paradisal man,” whose

“consciousness ruled and illuminated the whole organism . . . His organic processes

obeyed the law of his own will, not the law of nature” (593). For Lewis, the soul’s

influence was not necessarily confined to affecting mental activity, but may have once

ruled man’s entire physical form. One sees Tolkien take a similar approach to his elves.9

He writes:

8 Fëar is the plural of Tolkien’s word fëa, meaning “spirit.”

9 This similarity between the thought of Lewis and Tolkien on this point is also remarked upon by

Fornet-Ponse (72).


The fëar of the Elves were destined to dwell in Arda [the world] for all the life of

Arda, and the death of the flesh did not abrogate that destiny. Their fëar were

tenacious therefore of life ‘in the raiment of Arda,’ and far excelled the spirits of

men in power over that ‘raiment,’ even from the first days protecting their bodies

from many ills and assaults (such as disease), and healing them swiftly of injuries

. . . (MR 218-9)

Here Tolkien describes the power of the Elvish fëa over the material body, a

strengthening of the physical aspect of the Elves with health and undying life within the

existence of the world, much like Lewis’s “Paradisal man.”

To further extend this influence of the soul from individual Elven bodies to

matter-in-general would not stretch believability. One finds, for example, that the power

of the fëa is not confined for use within its individual person; an Elven child “draws

nourishment” for its fëa “equally” from the fëar of both parents (MR 221). Tolkien also

writes that “The Elvish fëa was above all designed to make things in co-operation with its

hröa [body]” (MR 332). This statement may only mean that the fëa supplies the creative

ideas and the body enacts them, or may refer more mystically to creative powers

channeled from the soul in the fashioning of beautiful works. The latter interpretation

certainly seems viable considering Tolkien’s larger discussion of the link between

Enchantment and Art.

The substantial power of the Elvish fëa has other implications as well. When the

longer passage above is read as indicating that the soul is the source of Elven

Enchantment, one may see why Tolkien did not confer magical abilities to mankind.

Elvish souls “far excelled the spirits of men in power over that ‘raiment’” which was


their bodies; because of this, they must have been able to manipulate matter to an extent

that men could not match. Such a view is corroborated by Tolkien’s statement that

Morgoth “despised” men even more so than Elves, because of “their lack of physical

force, or power over ‘matter’” (MR 395). As a final point in favor of an argument for

soul-power as the source of Tolkienian magic, one may recall that the greatest beings

within Arda, the Valar and the Maiar, are beings of pure spirit who have subsequently

taken on physical appearance. That their souls, therefore, must directly manipulate matter

to do anything in the world goes without saying.

External Powers

In addition to power brought forth from within, Tolkien’s world quite clearly includes

other powers which are derived externally from the user. Examples include the Phial of

Galadriel, Sam’s magic rope, certain acts of Morgoth which dispersed his power, the

vaguely suggested powers of Sauron as the Necromancer, and especially the One Ring.

While Dickerson and O’Hara recognize that spells such as Gandalf’s “act more to release

[one’s] own powers than to conjure up some external force” (HHP 235), these other

examples are most certainly sources of external power.

Even as such, however, these sources bear closer resemblance to the power of

Gandalf than may be at first presumed. Of this similarity, the Ring is an important

instance. Recalling that in their categorization of magics, Dickerson and O’Hara have

identified the inanimate and the personal as two variations of external sources, one may

accordingly be tempted to identify the Ring as “inanimate.” However, this is not so. The

Ring is no mere lifeless object, but rather one in which Sauron “let a great part of his


inherent power . . . pass into” (Letters 153). The Magic of the Ring derives from the spirit

of Sauron; it is therefore just as much a soul-power as that of Gandalf or the elves.

The activities of Sauron as Necromancer are a comparable instance: Tolkien

describes how some elves, after death, refuse to come before the judgment of the Valar

and so wander bodiless in the world, unable to be reincarnated (MR 223-4). In a search

for power, some individuals have attempted “[t]o call to them . . . To attempt to master

them and to make them servants of one’s own will.” To use spirits of the dead for magic

is necromancy and a “wrong deed”; however, it reinforces the idea that much of the

magical happenings in Middle-earth derive from soul-power.

Here one finds the fëar of elves once again working magic. Tolkien also mentions

that “It is said that Sauron did these things, and taught his followers how to achieve

them,” and that “the necromancers are of the host of Sauron” (MR 224). These statements

may help to resolve some of the difficulties engendered by the existence of mortal magic

users in Tolkien’s world, at least when they serve the side of evil. In this case, magic may

be beyond the abilities of men to achieve solely as men, but not necessarily unattainable

if the power comes from a source outside themselves. Or, as Tolkien wrote in his draft

material to “On Fairy-stories,” “Faierie is the underlying power that the magician only

taps or pretends to tap. On this theory it exists in itself – independent of the magician . . .”

(OFS 268). In short, Tolkien seems to have always considered any mortal instances of

magic to be derived externally from the user; moreover, he always viewed these instances

negatively. Because of this, it seems reasonable to assume that Tolkien would have used

the elves of “Faierie” as one source of magical powers for evil men, by means of

necromancy. Mortals drawing forbidden magic from Faierie was already an idea that had


passed through his mind; drawing the same connection when he reached this new context

of a wandering elven fëar would not have been difficult.

There is still another example of soul-power passing from an individual into the

external world, permitting later acts of magic by other users. Tolkien refers to this

instance as “Morgoth’s Ring” in analogy to the One Ring that would later be created by

Sauron; for like Sauron, Morgoth let a great deal of his own soul-power pass from

himself into the external world in a similar attempt at domination. However, Morgoth’s

infusion of power attempted to permeate the world and not just one object, as Tolkien

writes: “The whole of ‘Middle-earth’ was Morgoth’s Ring.” Exactly how Morgoth

affected matter is not told, yet one reads that “[i]t was this Morgoth-element in matter,

indeed, which was a prerequisite for such ‘magic’ and other evils as Sauron practiced

with it and upon it” (MR 400). While not explicitly stated, such externalized soul-power

might also provide another source of magic for mortal men.10

In contrast to these three preceding examples, Sam’s rope represents a category of

magical items that proves troublesome to explain. As mentioned earlier, the rope is not

only a well-crafted item, it is one that actually possesses the ability to untie itself when

necessary. To some, this might suggest that the rope has some small power woven within

it by the elves. The question then arises as to whether the craftsman imparted a measure

of his fëa into his work to provide such power. If so, the oft-mentioned problem with

mortal magic users immediately raises its head: As the fellowship prepares to depart

Lothlórien, Galadriel tells Sam that, had she known of his interests earlier, her people

10 As noted in the Tolkien Gateway wiki entry for “Magic.” This is a source that parallels many of

the independent conclusions of this thesis.


would have taught him the skill of crafting such rope. If this activity were one that

involved genuine Enchantment, it would be impossible for a mortal to learn to practice

without recourse to external powers.

While it would seem a tempting resolution, the exchange between Hobbit and Elf

queen should not be written off as an anomaly, for the theme of elves instructing mortals

in their crafts is one that runs throughout Tolkien’s work. For example, he tells Waldman

that “a recurrent theme is the idea that in Men (as they now are) there is a strand of

‘blood’ and inheritance, derived from the Elves, and that the art and poetry of Men is

largely dependent on it, or modified by it” (Letters 149). In Morgoth’s Ring, Tolkien

extends this teaching of “art and poetry” even more broadly to “art and science” (405).

Such a description may be taken to include all activities that fall under the idea of

craftsmanship. As mentioned earlier, one especially finds this instruction by the Elves in

Smith of Wootton Major, where Smith’s skill at the forge grows incredibly after his

sojourn in Faërie.

Yet, even though his abilities increase by this exposure, Smith will never be able

to rival anything crafted by the fairies themselves. The same level of difference between

human and Elven products would likely be true for Sam. This resolves the difficulty with

mortals, but the original problem still remains: Whence comes the power for the Elves’

rope? This is a concern which must be reexamined later.

On the surface level, the Phial of Galadriel may seem to present problems similar

to Sam’s rope. As an object external to its bearer, it certainly carries a power of its own

and does not merely “act more to release [one’s] own powers” as Dickerson and O’Hara


have said (HHP 235). However, one cannot trace even the majority of its effects back to

any power imparted by its crafter, as may be seen in a brief examination.

From Galadriel’s words, one may conclude that the Phial’s virtue derives from the

starlight of Eärendil, which is caught within it. With Bilbo’s earlier song in Rivendell,

one also learns that this star is really the ship of an ancient mariner, who now sails the

skies with a Silmaril bound upon his brow as his source of light. The Silmarils

themselves are jewels which have been filled with the light of Telperion and Laurelin, the

two trees of Valinor that were later destroyed by Morgoth. Of this light, Tolkien says:

“The Light of Valinor (derived from light before any fall) is the light of art undivorced

from reason, that sees [things] both scientifically (or philosophically) and imaginatively

(or subcreatively) and says that they are [‘good’] – as beautiful” (Letters 148).

In a later formulation, Tolkien would derive this light from a still earlier source:

“Varda [one of the Valar] has preserved some of the Primeval Light . . . The Two Trees

are made” (MR 377). Within the story that follows this note, Ilúvatar—creator of all—is

recorded as presenting this “gift” of light to Varda, one of the Valar: “thou shalt take into

Eä [the universe] a light that is holy, coming new from Me, unsullied by the thought and

lust of Melkor, and with thee it shall enter into Eä, and be in Eä, but not of Eä” (MR 380).

Originally, some of this light is used in the creation of the Sun, but its holiness is

fouled by Morgoth. With part of the pure, remaining light kept by Varda, the Trees are

then made. Similar to what has been seen earlier with Glorfindel and subsequent

explorations of the Elven fëa, here are more associations between light and creative

power, or rather, power used “subcreatively” (to borrow the term from Tolkien’s letter).

Varda’s gift is used to fashion the Sun and the Two Trees for the earth. While similar in


description to this fëa and its abilities, the light of the Phial cannot be said to derive from

the power of any created soul; as demonstrated by tracing its long history, this light came

by many removes direct from Ilúvatar himself. The Phial’s Enchantment is thus unique

among magical items in the Lord of the Rings.

The Flame Imperishable

There is another association suggested by the Phial’s light that has remained hitherto

unexplored in this discussion: the connection with fire. As mentioned above, part of

Varda’s “Primeval Light” was set within the Sun, whose purpose was to provide “health

and life and growth” “from its light” (MR 380). This description is of creative activity,

nourished (at least in part) by the strength of the Sun, whose fire provides the means for

heat, photosynthesis, and so on. The Silmarils also are said not only to be filled with

light, but with an “inner fire” as well (S 67). Again, as evidenced by Tolkien’s letter to

Waldman, the Silmarils are linked strongly to the concept of subcreativity (Letters 148).

Their fire is moreover compared to the souls of the Elves, while the crystal that houses

this fire is compared to the Elven body (S 67). Similarly, the Elven fëa is designed to

pursue subcreativity and is also associated with light. One might expect a similar

association between the fëa and fire, following the parallel examples of the Sun and the

Silmarils. Indeed, such is the case.

The first connection to be made between the soul and fire must set aside the elves

completely, turning instead to the Ainur—purely spiritual beings of Ilúvatar’s original

creation—who would otherwise later become known as the Valar if they chose to enter

Ilúvatar’s (yet uncreated) world. The Ainur, however, are not just angelic worshippers,

messengers, or warriors of God. After he has brought them into being (and prior to


creating anything else), Ilúvatar declares to them: “I will now that ye make in harmony

together a Great Music. And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable, ye

shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme, each with his own thoughts and

devices, if he will” (S 15). As each of the Ainur weaves together this melody, the course

of creation and the history of the world is fashioned with all members each contributing

some “adornment” of their own.

In Tolkien’s legendarium, this moment is the quintessential instance of the theme

of subcreation which is woven throughout the tales of Middle-earth. As Dickerson notes,

this capacity to subcreate stems from the Ainur’s kindling with the Flame Imperishable

(HJ 117). One may compare Ilúvatar’s words to the earlier actions of Morgoth, who,

before his fall, “had gone often alone into the void places seeking the Imperishable

Flame; for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own” (S 16). In

other words, created works may only attain “Being” through the Flame’s power. Hartley

takes a similar view in his interpretation, stating: “the fëa depends upon the Secret Fire

[Flame Imperishable] for its vitality”; nonetheless, he draws a distinction that Dickerson

lacks: “Yet the fëa and the Secret Fire are not the same” (Hartley 103). Hartley continues,

distinguishing that while the soul is “kindled” by the Flame, it is not the Flame itself

(103). Instead, the Flame Imperishable (or the Secret Fire, as it is also named) is set by

Ilúvatar into “the heart of the World,” giving to this new creation its being (MR 13-4).

According to Dickerson, since souls derive only from the Flame (and since souls

are requisite for individual creativity), the scope of this kindling must include many races

in Middle-earth: “men (and also elves and dwarves and the Ainur) have from Ilúvatar the

gift of the Flame Imperishable (HJ 124). Setting aside for a moment the conflation


between the flame kindled and the Flame itself, one may note that Dickerson’s statement

is indeed supported by other lines of evidence in Tolkien’s various texts. With regards to

the Elves, for example, Hartley notes the imagery of fire used to describe the soul of

Fëanor, who “lives ‘as if a secret fire were kindled in him’; his eyes are ‘piercingly

bright’ and he is ‘driven by the fire of his own heart.’” He also notes that Fëanor’s “name

(fëanaro) literally means ‘spirit-of-fire.’” Overall, his conclusion is that “the Secret Fire

may also kindle an individual soul with particular brightness” (104).

To these examples, one might add the scene where Morgoth comes before Fëanor

to tempt him away from the realm of the Valar: “But his cunning overreached his aim . . .

and awoke a fire more fierce than he designed; and Fëanor looked upon Melkor with eyes

that burned through his fair semblance and pierced the cloaks of his mind” (S 72).

Another retelling of this moment in Morgoth’s Ring is even less ambiguous: “Then the

fires of the heart of Fëanor were kindled, and his eyes blazed” (189).

In a context other than Tolkien’s legendarium, description of a character whose

“eyes blazed” or “burned” in wrath will most often be understood as a poetic license or

“purple prose,” depicting the intense inner emotions of the individual. However,

Tolkien’s is a world where even a Hobbit may perceive the Unseen soul, witnessing an

Elf such as Glorfindel exuding light. These experiences are elsewhere described “as

though a lamp burned within” the individual, suggesting most immediately images of

light, but also intimating that a kind of fire provides its power (MR 250). Tolkien

furthermore describes how, while all fëar are invisible to “bodily eyes,” they are “clearly

perceptible by direct awareness to other fëar” (MR 218). That Tolkien, in working out the

implications of the Elvish soul, repeatedly refers to this concept of “direct awareness”


between spirits argues strongly for assuming that his opinion on the matter was set.11 In

that case, Morgoth would then have received more than just a suggestion of Fëanor’s

emotional vehemence and wrath; the fire he perceived would be a direct, “scientific”

description of Fëanor’s revealed soul.

In addition to these examples linking Elves to the Flame, one also encounters

mention of how “the fire of their spirit” (MR 210) increases in “dominance” over their

bodies, eventually “consuming” them so that only the fëa remains, with the Elven body

continuing to exist only in “memory” (MR 219). Here is yet another instance that not

only equates the fëa with fire, but one that depicts a marked effect of the spirit upon the

material world as well. This interaction between the two different aspects of reality is an

important point, and one that Hartley goes to considerable length to connect to the

empowerment of the Flame.

As mentioned earlier, Dickerson discusses the spiritual/material interplay as well;

however, in both A Hobbit’s Journey and in From Homer to Harry Potter, he (along with

O’Hara in the latter case) stops short of explicitly drawing any conclusion similar to

Hartley. This is unfortunate, because where (at least in this article) Hartley pursues

connection after connection until he stretches all believability past the breaking point,

Dickerson generally demonstrates restraint and thoughtful insight. Unfortunately, in A

Hobbit’s Journey, this has resulted in leaving the role of the kindled flame to the

provision of free will and the ability to think creatively, where he might have mentioned

what power brings that creativity to pass. In From Homer to Harry Potter, Dickerson and

O’Hara even quote the passage discussing the Ainur’s kindling in their chapter on magic.

11 See MR 212, 225, 228, 244.


However, they proceed to focus on Tolkien’s words about the “powers” of the Ainur (S

15) with no discussion at all about the effect of the Flame itself (HHP 236).

While Dickerson and O’Hara have not seen fit to draw this connection, its truth

seems obvious: that the Flame’s kindling is the power behind the great abilities of the

Ainur and the Enchantment of the Elves, and that the Flame confers this power via their

souls. If so, then the old problem arises once more for Men: Why can they not perform

acts of power with their souls, if indeed their souls are a kindling of the Flame as

Dickerson suggests? The answer, perhaps, lies in the “Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth” and

“The Tale of Adanel” in Morgoth’s Ring.

As has already been stated, Tolkien conceived the fëa of Elves and Men as

different: the fëa of Elves were more “tenacious” of their bodies and had more “power”

over “matter.” Men would tend to die more quickly; possibly, as has been argued, their

lesser soul-strength could also be why they were unable to perform Enchantment. The

“Athrabeth,” however, seems to challenge this notion of human frailty as Man’s intended

condition. In The Silmarillion, one may recall, Tolkien had depicted the mortality of Man

as “the gift of Ilúvatar” (S 42), yet in the “Athrabeth,” the mortal woman Andreth argues:

“We were not made for death, nor born ever to die. Death was imposed upon us.” This

alteration in Man’s fate occurred “through the malice of the Lord of the Darkness” (309).

As to what exactly this “malice” was, Tolkien explores one possibility in “The Tale of

Adanel.”

Much as in Genesis 3, the “Tale of Adanel” describes the seduction of Mankind

by the Satan-figure Morgoth, whereupon Man is judged by Ilúvatar and becomes mortal.

As Andreth relates:


Thereafter we were grievously afflicted, by weariness, and hunger, and sickness;

and the Earth and all things in it were turned against us. Fire and Water rebelled

against us. The birds and beasts shunned us, or if they were strong they assailed

us. Plants gave us poison; and we feared the shadows under trees. (MR 348)

In another version of the story, Andreth suggests that the cause of this physical

degeneration stems from the souls of Men:

Some men say that [Morgoth] blasphemed Eru, and denied his existence, or his

power, and that our fathers assented . . . and that thereby our fëar denied their own

true nature, and so became darkened and weakened almost to the death . . . And

through the weakness of the fëar our hröar fell into unhealth, and lay open to all

evils and disorders of the world. (MR 351)12

Tolkien writes something similar in another text, adding that “through this weakness [of

their fëar] they lost the mastery of their bodies” (MR 354).

These three quotations are remarkable in what they suggest. One may infer, by

reversing the consequences of this “Fall” in the first description provided by Andreth,

that Men originally were not beset by such difficulties as “weariness” or “sickness,” or at

least were much more resistant to them. “The Earth and all things in it” would have

responded easily to their will. They would have been the masters of “Fire and Water,”

communed with the “birds and beasts,” and lived in harmony with the vegetation of

12 See The Problem of Pain for some interesting similarities between this passage and the

speculations of C.S. Lewis (596).


nature.13 This attunement to the world around them proceeded by virtue of their fëar,

which, as that of the Elves, provided “mastery of their bodies.” Indeed, by these

descriptions, one begins to wonder if this fëa that was in them did not rival in abilities the

fëa of the Elves. The Elf lord Finrod himself, upon grasping the implications of an

immortal Mankind, declares to Andreth: “Therefore I say that if this can be believed, then

mighty indeed under Eru were Men made in their beginning” (MR 318). Perhaps, then,

Mankind could have once practiced Enchantment had they learned to do so. This would

support Dickerson’s conclusion that Men were kindled with the Imperishable Flame.

Such a suggestion may appear to stretch believability, but it is supported by at

least one other major consideration: As appears numerous times throughout his writings

on the matter, Tolkien intended for Men to partake in the Second Music of the Ainur—

the creation of the new, restored world after the end of the current one, broken and

corrupted by Morgoth—to participate in the creation of “Arda Healed” (MR 318). The

words of Ilúvatar himself, spoken at the beginning of time, demonstrate that kindling by

the Flame is a necessary prerequisite to participation in the Music. It might therefore be

easier to believe that Ilúvatar through his Flame once created Man with a soul of power,

which was subsequently damaged so utterly that most of this power was lost, than to

believe that Man was always frail and mortal, that the creative abilities of his soul were

always limited to generating ideas in the mind, and that participation in this Second

Music to come will mean nothing further than this same mental creativity.

13 Compare Tolkien’s statement that “the desire to converse with other living things” is “as ancient

as the Fall” —at this point in history mankind experienced a “severance” that broke off their previous

abilities of communication and left them wishing for the restoration of their original state (OFS 73-4).


However, in his commentary on the “Athrabeth,” Tolkien suggests that

Mankind’s lesser control of their bodies preceded even Morgoth’s seduction, and in fact

made their Fall possible (334), which would seem to argue against the possibility of any

potent use of power on the part of Man. Nevertheless, even if they were weaker than the

Elves in origin, their pre-Fall abilities must still have exceeded their present state (as

Tolkien describes in the passages already referenced). Therefore it is hard to say with

certainty whether or not Enchantment would have been attainable in their original nature.

Regardless, as suggested above, participation in the Second Music seems to require some

sort of direct power for shaping the world, so at the very least one must assume this

power will be conferred to Men at this future time.

Because Tolkien’s intentions for the two Musics are intricately tied to his idea of

creativity and the soul, exploring them further will help to illuminate the role

Enchantment plays in his world, especially as it concerns Ilúvatar’s separate purposes for

Men and Elves. Even so, a word must first be said about the Imperishable Flame and the

Dwarves. Dickerson, as referenced above, includes them as recipients of kindling.

However, from the texts sampled here, little reference seems to be made to the magical

abilities of this race.

In one untitled text, Tolkien makes passing reference to their “‘magic’ skills”

(PME 310), and in The Hobbit, Thorin’s company sings of how “[t]he dwarves of yore

made mighty spells” (14). Not much more appears to be known about this aspect of their

kind, a fact which is most likely due to their notoriously secretive way of life.14

14 In a footnote to one of his writings on the Dwarves, Tolkien says: “Indeed most of the

references to Dwarvish history in Elven records are marked with ‘so said Legolas.’” Most of the knowledge


Nevertheless, since they are counted along with Elves and Men as the Children of

Ilúvatar (S 44), one may likewise assume that kindling by the Flame applies also to them,

especially as they are said to “love first the things made by their own hands” —a

condition made possible only by a spirit of creativity. Moreover, as with both Men and

Elves, they will advance Ilúvatar’s plan for a new, perfect world, “Arda Healed,” as

Tolkien writes: “Then their part shall be to serve Aulë and to aid him in the remaking of

Arda after the Last Battle” (S 44).

Perhaps, then, the Flame has also kindled a power in their souls to work magic in

Middle-earth. However, one must note that Tolkien’s final formulations of the Dwarves

describe them as having always been mortal (unlike his reassessment of original Man),

which suggests that their spirits have never possessed as much power over matter as do

the spirits of the Elves. Moreover, the Dwarves were not fashioned directly by Ilúvatar,

but rather by the Vala Aulë; they are of Ilúvatar’s children only by adoption, and in the

moment Ilúvatar gives them life there is the implicit understanding that while their

“being” is a gift, they still suffer from the limitations of Aulë their maker. Ilúvatar states

that “in no other way will I amend thy handiwork, and as thou hast made it, so shall it be”

(S 44). This deficiency will later prove grievous to Aulë’s wife Yavanna, who laments

that “the things that grow and live upon the earth they will not heed” (S 45). Thus, due to

the limitations of the Dwarves inherent in their original creation, and coupled with the

about the Dwarves came through the singular relationship between Legolas and Gimli (PME 391). The

paucity of information on Dwarven magical abilities is highlighted by the Tolkien Gateway wiki entry for

“Magic,” which includes only a few (relatively insubstantial) comments on the Dwarves and their powers.


secrecy that shrouds the rest of their activities, little can be said with certainty about the

nature of any magical abilities they might possess.

The Musics of the Ainur

In notes discussing the material of the “Athrabeth,” Tolkien briefly overviews the process

by which the world in his myth came to be:

According to the Ainulindalë [the first part of the Silmarillion] there were five

stages in creation. a. The creation of the Ainur. b. The communication by Eru of

his Design to the Ainur. c. The Great Music, which was as it were a rehearsal, and

remained in the stage of thought or imagination. d. The ‘Vision’ of Eru, which

was again only a foreshadowing of possibility, and was incomplete. e. The

Achievement, which is still going on. (MR 336)

This final stage would have begun as soon as Ilúvatar sent his Flame to burn in Eä, giving

“Being” to his creation. The Valar subsequently enter this reality to work towards its

completion, yet they proceed according to what they have already heard in their musics

played before Ilúvatar. These compositions, woven together, constitute the “Great

Music,” which directs the forming of the cosmos and governs the development and

history of the world. In The Silmarillion, this Music is identified as “fate” (S 41). The

outworking of these themes includes even the rebellious actions of Morgoth, whose

musical dissonance results in evil within the created order (MR 405-6).

In response to this rebellion, Elves and Men (the Children) are introduced into the

Music by Ilúvatar himself—none of the Ainur contributed to their creation (S 41). In the

Waldman letter, Tolkien explains that the introduction of the Children was meant “partly

to redress the evil of the rebel Melkor, partly for the completion of all in an ultimate


finesse of detail” (Letters 147). This literary purpose pairs with Tolkien’s hope for the

real world, that humanity “may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment

of creation” (OFS 79). Ilúvatar’s intention for the Children, therefore, is to heal the

beauty that is broken and also to create beauty that is new.

Some Tolkien scholars, such as Flieger and Fornet-Ponse, have noted that Elves

and Men differ in their respective relations to the Music. The key text that produces this

discrepancy is the same as that referenced above where the Music is described as “fate”:

‘. . . But the Quendi [Elves] shall be the fairest of all early creatures, and they

shall have and shall conceive and bring forth more beauty than all my Children;

and they shall have the greater bliss in this world. But to the Atani [Men] I will

give a new gift.’ Therefore he [Ilúvatar] willed that the hearts of Men should seek

beyond the world and find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape

their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the

Ainur, which is as fate to all things else; and of their operation everything should

be, in form and deed, completed and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

(S 41-2)

Flieger reads this text to mean that only Men possess true free will; “all things else,” as

Tolkien writes, are fated. Even the actions of the Elves are, in Flieger’s view,

predetermined; though the Elves still do retain the “inner” choice of good or ill will when

acting out their fate (MT [2012] 38).15 There is little that needs to be said on this account,

15 This thesis references two separate editions of this essay by Flieger, published in 2009 and 2012

respectively. They are marked accordingly.


as Flieger’s notion has been thoroughly refuted by Fornet-Ponse,16 whose rebuttal essay

provides a more satisfactory exploration of Tolkien’s intentions for the Children.

Fornet-Ponse argues that Tolkien’s views on “fate” differ from the rigid

determinism proposed by Flieger: The Elves are bound to the Music in a relationship of

“fate” because they are inherently natural creatures; i.e., made especially for the created

world, which is governed by the Music. For this reason, Elves do not pass into an afterlife

upon death, but rather are reincarnated; in contradistinction, Men are supernatural, and

upon death, their souls leave this current world, never to return. Thus, Men are not

“fated,” ultimately, by the Music, because after death they pass beyond its governance.

Fornet-Ponse demonstrates that such a reading is supported by the text, which pairs

Men’s “gift of freedom” with their mortality, contrasting this state with how “the Elves

remain until the end of days” (S 42).

Yet, if one is to continue examining the implications of the Musics for

Enchantment, there is still a need to identify the respective purposes for which Ilúvatar

created Elves and Men, purposes which cannot be defined by merely stating facts about

their longevity and physical characteristics. As Flieger recognizes in her essay, “the

purpose of the Children—that is, both Elves and Men—to complete the design must be

twofold in action, for otherwise there would be no necessity for two separate races” (MT

[2012] 38). Flieger believes this “twofold” purpose to be the collision of Elven fate and

the free will of Man, which will change the predetermined course of history and thus

16 Among other examples, Fornet-Ponse draws attention to Fëanor’s slaughter of the Teleri and

theft of their white ships. This moment could never have occurred through any ‘inner’ choice of good

motives (68-9).


“revise” the Music. Flieger does not mention it, but this very question of “twofold”

purpose is taken up by Tolkien in his commentary on the “Athrabeth.” He writes that in

Finrod’s view

the condition of Men before the disaster (or as we might say, of unfallen Man)

cannot have been the same as that of the Elves. That is, their ‘immortality’ cannot

have been the longevity within Arda of the Elves; otherwise they would have

been simply Elves, and their separate introduction later into the Drama by Eru

would have no function. (MR 333)

Flieger must therefore be right in at least the first part of her assertion; namely, that while

both are intended for the healing of Arda, Elves and Men function to effect this healing in

different ways. As seen earlier, however, Flieger’s solution of rigidly determined Elves is

problematic. Perhaps the greatest difficulty with this idea is that it would reduce the Elves

to passive participants in the healing of Arda. This would effectively put them on par

with the rest of Ilúvatar’s inanimate creation in terms of their ability to contribute to the

healing; without any ability for them to make choices about their participation, there

would be little difference between them and, say, a sword which a valiant man might use

to conquer evil. Such an interpretation would be intolerable and certainly seems to run

contrary to the vast majority of Tolkien’s writings.

In Fornet-Ponse’s view, though, the Elves are free-willed and active, beings

whose free choices propel the restoration of the world. He writes:

Thus, it is possible to combine Flieger’s interesting suggestion [of “twofold”

purpose] . . . with the freedom of both children since the task of the Elves may be

to work for completion by producing beauty within Arda (so to speak: performing


the Music) and not leaving it while the task of Men is the completion of the

Music. (Fornet-Ponse 82)

As regards the completion of this first Music, Fornet-Ponse seems to suggest a couple

options for how Tolkien intended the role of Man to play out. The first is that Man would

add to and complete the themes of history that the Ainur have already played in the

Music before time began. If, as Finrod suggests, this Music ended before the fulfillment

of Arda, then Men may indeed finish the Music from the point where the Ainur left off.

The extent to which the Music reaches, however, is not quite clear, and so speculation

that Man might add new notes of his own to the end of this preexisting theme remains

uncertain.

The second option Fornet-Ponse considers is that the Music may indeed extend to

the end of Arda; in this case Man’s role would be to work out the final portion of the

Music, which would fall to them. Finally, in either scenario, Men would afterwards

participate in the Second Music, subcreating with the Ainur a new world. In the current

Arda meanwhile, the Elves would also engage in working out the Music by “producing

beauty.” Thus, Fornet-Ponse roots the difference between these two races not in their

capacity for free-willed action, but rather in the separate works they have been assigned

to bring about the world’s restoration and fulfillment.

If Fornet-Ponse is correct, then this key insight about Ilúvatar’s purpose provides

the best distinction between the magical potentials of Elves and Men: Elves were

designed specifically for this earth, to bring “beauty” to it—hence their enchanting

power. Meanwhile, Men were always intended to express the fullness of their creativity


in the world to come, which explains the different way their soul-power affects this

current world.

Fornet-Ponse’s view on Elven purpose is certainly borne out by the text. In The

Silmarillion, Tolkien writes, “Ilúvatar made [the Elves] more like in nature to the Ainur,

though less in might and stature” (S 41). The Valar, as earlier stated, entered Arda to

work out the Music, bringing to pass the wonders they had sung before Ilúvatar. Since the

Valar and the Elves are of a comparable “nature,” considering the Elves’ purpose to be an

outworking of the Music similar to that of the Valar is not unreasonable. As already

mentioned, the Elves do have a special power to achieve beauty; also, their “fëa was

above all things designed to make things in co-operation with its hröa” (MR 332) —to

perform acts of subcreating beauty is an essential aspect of how Elves were designed to

operate.

Beyond even this purpose, however, one finds that Elves were created to prepare

Men for their own role in Ilúvatar’s overarching plan for the world. They are to introduce

“art and science” (MR 405), and, as Tolkien wrote in his letter to Waldman,

to love the beauty of the world, to bring it to full flower with their gifts of

delicacy and perfection, to last while it lasts . . . and yet, when the followers

[Men] come, to teach them, and make way for them, to ‘fade’ as the Followers

grow and absorb the life from which both proceed. (147)

Tolkien, in his “Athrabeth” commentary, expands upon the nature of this “making way”

or transfer of duty from Elves to Men. The healing for which the Children were created,

he says, “will come now by or through Men; but the Elves’ part in the healing or

redemption will be chiefly in the restoration of the love of Arda, to which their memory


of the Past and understanding of what might have been will contribute” (MR 343). The

purpose of the Elves is to teach Men how they might heal the broken creation. This

instruction involves not only imparting the knowledge and abilities of a craftsman, but

also the craftsman’s heart—a love for the work of one’s hands and for the materials out

of which that work is fashioned, leading one to embrace creativity (and not domination or

destruction).

Thus the way is prepared for Men, to whom Fornet-Ponse assigns “the completion

of the Music” (82), and also to whom Ilúvatar “gave strange gifts” (S 41). From the

“Athrabeth,” one discovers just how “strange” these “gifts” are. It has already been said

that one of the gifts is death, and also that this gift is connected with Man’s participation

in the Second Music, which may itself be understood as a second gift. It has furthermore

been noted that, according to Andreth, Mankind was once immortal; Finrod’s view that

this immortality must have differed from Elven immortality has been mentioned as well.

Throughout all of his writings, Tolkien has always intended for Men to pass

beyond this world after a (relatively) short span of life. This “fate” was part of Men’s

nature from the beginning, given to them by Ilúvatar. However, the postlapsarian mode of

this passing occurs by the failure of the body—slain through war, sickness, or age—upon

which the spirit departs this world to be with Ilúvatar. As a Christian, Tolkien knew this

present arrangement could not be considered as the original, divine intent for Man—to do

so would be theologically unorthodox, since the Christian faith asserts selfhood as the

unity of body and spirit. Thus, any arrangement wherein the spirit becomes separated

from the body must be unnatural, and not a part of Ilúvatar’s original design.


To preserve the goodness of their original created nature, “death” for Men must

therefore have necessitated their spirit and body remain unified in passing from this earth

to the afterlife. When Finrod hears Andreth’s legend of once-immortal Mankind, such is

the conclusion he reaches, adding the significant implication that since the body is

composed of matter, a portion of this broken world would “be healed not only of the taint

of Melkor, but released even from the limits that were set for it in the ‘Vision of Eru’”

(MR 318). As Tolkien says later in his commentary, “‘assumption’ was the natural end of

each human life” —a statement made in reference to the Catholic view of Mary, who was

taken into heaven without the death of her body.

This healing of matter would then have been at least one means by which Man

assisted in the effoliation of the created order. Multiple enrichment, the other purpose of

Man, which Tolkien alludes to in “On Fairy-stories,” seems to be somehow connected

with how Man raises matter to heavenly perfection. As Tolkien writes in the parting

words of his essay: “All tales may come true; and yet, at the last redeemed, they may be

as like and unlike the forms that we gave them[,] as Man, finally redeemed, will be like

and unlike the fallen that we know” (OFS 79). Such a statement would remain cryptic if

not illuminated by other sources; it would moreover be limited in scope, as Tolkien

confines his comments here to stories. His short tale “Leaf by Niggle” both clarifies his

intent and broadens its application.

In this work, Tolkien addresses the relation between art and the afterlife. The

story is of a painter by the name of Niggle, who in his spare time works on painting a

marvelous tree on a canvas in his shed. His neighbor, Parish, sees nothing useful in

Niggle’s activities. Parish is more concerned with his garden, which can at least provide


him food. In the course of the tale, both men die and pass through a kind of purgatory

before reaching heaven. When Niggle finally does enter Paradise, he encounters his very

own tree—now real, and more complete than ever he had skill to produce. All the

intricate details are “as he had imagined them rather than as he had made them” (110). As

for the surrounding area, “nothing was wrong” with it, yet it still needed to be brought to

completion (111). Together, Niggle and Parish begin to develop this space to its fullest

potential. In the end, the area has become “Niggle’s Picture” —or rather all that Niggle

had imagined his picture might become—and is becoming “Parish’s Garden” (114).

This story is just another version of Tolkien’s statement that “all tales may come

true.” And just as Tolkien’s definition of Enchantment was examined earlier to

demonstrate that it applies to all art forms and not just story-telling, this redemption of

“all tales” in the afterlife should not be understood as limited to the redemption of tales

alone. Niggle is a painter, in which function he represents all high arts. Parish, moreover,

is a mere gardener—his inclusion extends Tolkien’s address to all of craftsmanship.

These two characters are, in other words, sub-creators of Heaven, a designation

that reflects Tolkien’s intention for the Mankind of Middle-earth to participate in the

Second Music of the Ainur. The significance of this view lies not only in the greatness of

the assumed future activity, but also in that it assumes that the imagination and work of

Men now will impact their experiences then. In this way, much as matter is taken up and

perfected by unfallen Men in their passing, so also their work on earth will be carried into

the world to come, where it can finally be made complete. One may even say that, with

every creative thought and activity undertaken by Men in this life, they pen a note to that

Second Music which they will sing with the Ainur at the end of time.


Writing of this event, Tolkien states: “Then the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played

aright, and take Being in the moment of their utterance . . . and Ilúvatar shall give to their

thoughts the secret fire, being well pleased” (S 16). This statement is remarkably similar

to how Tolkien describes Elven Enchantment in his Waldman letter: “Their ‘magic’ is

Art, delivered from many of its human limitations: more effortless, more quick, more

complete (product, and vision in unflawed correspondence)” (Letters 146). Or, as he

writes in his draft material to “On Fairy-stories,” a creative power that is “unbroken by

the gap between vision and making” (222). In these instances, as well as in his discussion

of the Second Music, one finds the same idea of the creative imagination as being

translated directly, swiftly, and perfectly into the created work. The similarity suggests

that, while the Elves have been gifted with Enchantment in this world, Men will possess

like abilities in the life to come.

The Gift of “Being”

When one discusses the power to create—whether in connection to the Ainur’s role in

fashioning the world, the Elves’ current role of Enchantment, or Man’s future role in the

afterlife, there is a possibility of confusion about how the creative process occurs. In the

case of both Musics, one finds that the performers cannot bring what they have sung into

Being on their own, even though their Music is supposed to be an act of sub-creation

(Hart 52). In both examples, Ilúvatar must “give to their thoughts the secret fire” (S 16)

or “send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable” (S 20). Dickerson has already

pointed out that, by evidence of Aulë and the Dwarves, none of Ilúvatar’s progeny are

able to “create beings having their own free will” (HJ 117) —in other words, beings

kindled by the Flame. This would be an expected limitation on their creative powers.


However, one may further consider the example of Morgoth, who desires the Flame for

himself because he wishes “to bring into being things of his own” (S 16). These specific

desires of Morgoth differ from those of Aulë, for here Morgoth desires to make “things”

whereas Aulë attempted to create free-willed beings. The statement about Morgoth, then,

is more general; in accordance with what has already been said about the Music, it

suggests that the power of kindled creatures is not sufficient to produce even inanimate

creations without direct activity by the Flame itself. This would seem to contradict the

notion that the kindling within the Ainur and the Elves confers physical power to sub-

create new beauty, instead restricting their creative abilities to the mind while

necessitating they wait upon the Flame to actualize their imaginings. And yet, the Valar

and Elves are repeatedly depicted as exercising creative power over matter.

In answer to this difficulty, one must remember that, by the time that the Ainur

begin to work in Arda and the Elves appear on the scene, Ilúvatar has already brought the

raw material of the universe into being, from which subcreated beauty is then formed.

Hence, one must distinguish between creative development and creation ex nihilo. Only

Ilúvatar can perform the latter. This is especially evident in the aforementioned creation

of souls, for these are not made from the stuff of the universe, but rather “come direct

from Eru.” To illustrate the difference between these two types of creative activity, some

of Tolkien’s unpublished material, quoted by Flieger in her essay on the Music, will

prove helpful:

[O]ne of the Eldar would have said that for all Elves and Men the shape,

condition, and therefore the past and future physical development and destiny of

this ‘earth’ was determined and beyond their power to change, indeed beyond the


power even of the Valar, to alter in any large and permanent way. ([Marginal

note:] They distinguished between “change” and redirection. Thus any ‘rational

[?will-user] could in a small way move, re-direct, stop, or destroy objects in the

world; but he could not “change” into something else. They did not confuse

analysis with change, e.g. water/steam, oxygen hydrogen.) The Downfall of

Númenor was ‘a miracle’ as we might say, or as they a direct action of Eru . . .

(MT [2009] 158)17

The creation of the universe would thus be “a direct action of Eru” and any modification

of it by his creatures would be an act of “analysis,” by which Tolkien means “the

separation of the whole into its component parts” (Merriam-Webster).

This “analysis” is the means by which Enchantment operates. As noted earlier,

Tolkien likened the linguistic potential for “combining nouns and redistributing

adjectives” (OFS 64) to “an enchanter’s power” (41). To thus “take green from grass,

blue from heaven, red from blood” (41) is to practice “analysis.” Recombining these

elements in new and artistic ways is how Tolkien defines sub-creation (OFS 42, 64).

Again, in the context of crafting stories, Tolkien describes sub-creation as a process

which takes the elements of the “Primary World” and orders them in new

“rearrangements” that still cohere with each other to produce “the inner consistency of

17 This quotation comes from the 2009 edition of Flieger’s essay. In the 2012 edition, Flieger

excises Tolkien’s reference to “analysis” —presumably for brevity’s sake (MT [2012] 21). In both sources,

the difficulty in readability stems from Flieger’s reproduction of Tolkien’s unpublished notes, which are

themselves understandably rough and sometimes contain illegible handwriting. The bracketed editing is

Flieger’s.


reality” —the feeling that the imaginary world is not forced, but rather makes sense (60).

It may be hard to see how the qualification of “the inner consistency of reality” may

apply to other, non-story forms of sub-creative art, but in truth it is not quite so difficult.

For a story, arranging the material of the Primary World must result in this “inner

consistency” because, for a story, such is what is necessary to achieve beauty.

Accordingly, other art forms will have different requirements, though all will still

participate in the same analysis and creative recombination of material from the Primary

World.

A Conjunctive Sub-creation

Another, less visible consideration must be explored when examining how Enchantment

and sub-creation are given “Being” by the Flame Imperishable, for to limit Ilúvatar’s

work to merely providing the raw materials for creation would cast Tolkien’s cosmology

as overly deistic. As evidenced by the “Athrabeth,” Ilúvatar did not just “wind up the

world and walk away” as popular depictions of deism claim. Instead, Finrod declares that

“Eru will surely not suffer Melkor to turn the world to his own will and triumph in the

end.” Moreover, he says that Ilúvatar “is already in [Arda], as well as outside” (MR 322).

In his commentary, Tolkien notes that Ilúvatar resides within Arda as the Flame

Imperishable, which he sent into the universe in the beginning. This action, Tolkien says,

“refers . . . to the mystery of ‘authorship,’ by which the author, while remaining ‘outside’

and independent of his work, also ‘indwells’ in it . . . as the source and guarantee of its

being” (MR 345).

Given the presence of the Flame and Ilúvatar’s recognized commitment to his

world, one may wonder if the Flame also actively works through creation to accomplish


the purposes of Ilúvatar in addition to upholding its existence. Actually, this idea should

be expected: Since the Flame is equated with authorship, one should anticipate that it

would act to guide the story of the world to the author’s desired completion. After all,

that is what authors do. As to the possible implications of this idea, an Elf may, for

example, work out a small portion of the Music (i.e., the story) by crafting beauty with

the power of his kindled soul; the Flame will work in conjunction with him in this

endeavor, and the two will bring that beauty to pass.

By such activity, Ilúvatar would achieve one of the goals of what Tolkien calls the

“creative desire”; namely, to produce “shared enrichment, partners in making and

delight” (OFS 64). Hart seems to suggest such a process in his discussion of the “creative

contribution” of the Ainur, which he says depends “equally upon [Ilúvatar’s] continuing

presence and action in, with, and under theirs” (52). And he certainly seems to be moving

along a similar track when he describes “[a]rtistic making” as the act of “desiring nothing

more than . . . the fulfillment of possibilities latent within [the world]” (52). While

Tolkien never explicitly examined this idea in any official discourse, there are hints of

such divine activity throughout his works.

One such example comes from the Waldman letter, where Tolkien writes that “the

great policies of world history, ‘the wheels of the world,’ are often turned . . . by the

seemingly unknown and weak—owing to the secret life in creation, and . . . the intrusions

of the Children of God into the Drama” (Letters 149). The role of the Children in the

Healing of Arda has already been discussed, but what this “secret life” is, he does not

here explain. Elsewhere, he also speaks of how “the foundations of this world are good,

and it turns by nature to good, healing itself from within by the power that was set there


in its making” —though it is possible that this passage refers to power set within the

world via the sub-creative acts of the Valar, and not to the Flame Imperishable (MR 379).

Nevertheless, it does demonstrate that Tolkien contemplated some kind of power that

would reside in nature itself, and not just in the souls of individuals.

In his draft material for “On Fairy-stories,” one finds a significant number of

musings about a similar latency within God’s created order. Milburn, for example,

discusses how Tolkien originally intended to derive the magic18 of Faërie when he was

first composing his seminal essay:

“In the Middle Ages,” writes Tolkien, “natural magic excluded the invocation or

use of ‘spirits,’19 but included operations whose efficacy depended on occult

power . . . occult because it depended on the use or tapping of the underlying

powers of nature” (OFS 262). Such powers “must of course theologically

considered derive ultimately from God,” but they “are inherent in the world as

created, external to God” (268). It is here that Tolkien defines Faery as “the occult

power in nature behind the usable and tangible appearances of things . . .”

(Milburn 56)

In positing the existence of “underlying powers of nature” that are “external to God,”

Tolkien is still far from devising a system wherein these “underlying powers” actually

refer to the indwelling of God himself. As evidenced by his statement, he is instead

thinking through the relations between faeries, magic, and creativity, in which he

18 Milburn’s essay leaves Magic largely undifferentiated from Enchantment. Therefore, the

lowercase rendering of “magic” can be interpreted in Milburn as either based upon the context.

19 Compare Tolkien’s discussion of necromancy in Morgoth’s Ring (223-5).


understandably takes into account medieval notions of the occult. However, in positing

the occult as his source of magic, Tolkien begins to tread on the “theological thin ice” (CI

103) that he has traversed with other ideas as a sub-creator himself. Nonetheless, as in

these other instances, he takes his moral responsibility seriously. Hart, speaking generally

about Tolkien’s artistic disposition, notes that “there certainly were things that mattered

to him . . . and applied a brake to his sense of imaginative license”: things, in other

words, that dealt with “the basic nature of reality as he believed it to be” (43).

Accordingly, Milburn writes that this particular idea of the occult “seems to have

troubled [Tolkien] when he began to consider it as a real possibility” (57). He then

documents three prayers that Tolkien wrote into this draft-essay which “assert the

preeminence of God,” and he follows with a demonstration of how Tolkien ultimately

abandoned his device of occult power in favor of an explanation akin to Coleridge’s idea

of the Imagination (58).

However, just because Tolkien may have “cleansed it of its ‘occult aspect” (58),

does not mean he necessarily abandoned the concept. When it came to weighing his ideas

as a sub-creator against theological orthodoxy, Tolkien often seems to have tried to

preserve both—rendering them compatible instead of discarding one or the other.20 In

this instance, Tolkien may have employed the Flame to rectify the opposition. He had

been working with the idea of the occult in his essay, describing a magical energy that

supposedly underlies all of nature. One may read the same designation, slightly modified,

into Tolkien’s discussion of the Flame as “the mystery of ‘authorship.’” First, like the

20 Such as in his thoughts on Elvish reincarnation (see Flieger, CI passim) or Morgoth’s corruption

of the orcs (see Bergen passim).


“occult,” the Flame indwells the created world. It is also in some sense “external to God”

—though in a unique mode. Tolkien writes that the Flame is “in some sense distinct from

or within [Ilúvatar],” though, again, it is Ilúvatar’s means of indwelling his creation (MR

345). This differs from the “occult,” which is “external to God” in the sense that it is not

God. Its powers are no more divine than are the energies of the Sun. The Flame,

meanwhile, seems to be described as God; yet it is “distinct from or within” God. Such a

statement can be identified as nothing less than a reference to the Holy Trinity of

Christian faith, where the divine is said paradoxically to be one God who is three persons.

God the Father is generally comprehended as transcendent, much as Ilúvatar remains

“outside” of his creation. Meanwhile, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit both fulfill

very immanent roles. The Son actually appears in Tolkien’s “Athrabeth” as well: Tolkien

speaks of Finrod reaching “an imaginative guess or vision that Eru would come

incarnated in human form” (MR 335).

For present concerns though, of special interest is the divine person of the Flame.

Famously, Clyde Kilby has claimed that Tolkien himself identified this Flame with the

Holy Spirit in one of their conversations (59). Evidence has borne him out, even though

his statement came long before the publication of the “Athrabeth” and its accompanying

commentary. By process of elimination, one may see that this Flame which is “distinct

from or within” God must indeed be the Holy Spirit. Again, two of the Flames’

characteristics seem to echo Tolkien’s early evocation of the “occult.” Powers that were

“underlying” in nature become instead a divine indwelling of nature; powers that were

“external to God” are translated into the “complexity” (MR 335) of the Godhead.


These are not the only observations to support a connection between the Flame

and Tolkien’s earlier musings on magic. In some parts of his draft material, Tolkien

seems to attribute his theory of occult power in the world to the presence of creatures

(fairies) who would inhabit some portion of nature. With this form of the idea, occult

power would in some sense be a soul-magic, proceeding as it would from the spirits of

individual beings scattered throughout the created order; the example he provides is of

a tree-fairy (or a dryad) . . . who aided as ‘agent’ in the making effective of the

divine Tree-idea or some part of it, or of even of some one particular example:

some tree. He is therefore now bound by use and love to Trees (or a tree),

immortal while the world (and trees) last – never to escape, until the End. (255).

Quoting this passage, Milburn comments that “Such fairies are rather like the Valar”

(57). Indeed, in Tolkien’s works, the Valar are the most recognizable of Ilúvatar’s

offspring as “agents” of creation, and, like these fairies, they are “bounded in the World,

to be within it for ever, until it is complete, so that they are its life and it is theirs” (S 20).

Nevertheless, Tolkien’s draft material also seems to indicate some kind of power

in creation that is external to these fairies themselves. He writes: “Faierie . . . has no exact

or modern equivalent. Magic is often used but that is tainted . . . But in and by faierie

fairies live. They do not exploit it. They have their being in it, and all their acts are ‘fay’”

(254). Elsewhere, in a passage already partially quoted via Milburn, Tolkien says further:

“In essence faierie is the occult power in nature behind the usable and tangible


appearances of things which [the magician]21 may tend or pretend to tap, but in which

and by which fairies have their being” (264). In these ideas, one finds that the magic of

fairies is derived externally from them; the magic comes from faierie, a place wherein the

fairies reside. Yet in a sense, this magic is also part of the fairies’ internal soul-power, for

“by” the magic of faierie they also “have their being.” Tolkien seems to have envisioned

a process whereby the two magic sources work in conjunction, pursuing (as Milburn

demonstrates) creative activity: The fairies posses “the power to achieve beauty” (OFS

269) by “effortless production” (OFS 222-3; Milburn 61) —descriptions of efficacious

artistry that closely align with Tolkien’s vision for the Elves of Middle-earth, as seen

earlier in the Waldman letter. Quite obviously, since these acts are accomplished by

created beings, they are acts of sub-creation, though they have not yet been tied to

Tolkien’s theory of “analysis.”

Although Milburn has said that Tolkien cleansed his ideas of their “occult aspect”

by adopting Coleridge’s philosophy on the powers of the Imagination, much remains to

be said about Tolkien’s views on magic, things that Milburn may have noted but not

explored. Only in passing does he mention the similarities between the Valar and fairies

as “agents” in God’s creation. That Tolkien, between the Waldman letter and his draft

material, describes fairy and Elven magic in the same terms of efficacious artistry is not

mentioned at all. These are both examples of how Tolkien adapted his original ideas

about magic and carried them over into his development of Middle-earth, still retaining

21 The word Tolkien intended here is missing; however, when compared with other versions of this

statement that he makes throughout this material, he most certainly intended to include “the magician” as

his contrast to fairies.


the basic principles of these ideas in the process. One might therefore expect some form

of his original thoughts on sub-creation to appear in Middle-earth as well, where fairies

use both their inner magic and the occult power of faierie to produce beauty. Indeed, this

conjunctive, sub-creative process aligns quite closely with the aforementioned role

posited for the Flame; one also may recall that the Flame is what gives the creative soul

its existence, much as fairies derive their own being from faierie itself. If one may then

draw this conclusion that the Flame is Tolkien’s later, theologically refined development

of his earlier posited “occult power,” one must also accord that the Flame is active in

Middle-earth beyond just providing the sustaining power for the universe.

Obviously, the activity of the Flame may take many forms. In the real world, for

example, Christians would credit the Holy Spirit with influencing the hearts of men—and

the same is probably true of Middle-earth. In the current context, however, of most

interest is how the Flame participates in the creative process externally to the craftsman’s

own inner power. Again, another portion of Tolkien’s draft material may be helpful in

clarifying this question. He writes:

What is this faierie? It reposes (for us now) in a view that the normal world,

tangible visible audible, is only an appearance. Behind it is a reservoir of power

which is manifested in these forms. If we can drive a well down to this reservoir

we shall tap a power that can not only change the visible forms of things already

existent, but spout up with a boundless wealth of forms of things never before

known – potential but unrealized. (270)

Again, Tolkien’s depiction of this power has not yet reached the stage where he will

replace it with the indwelling presence of Ilúvatar, else he would not speak so cavalierly


about “[driving] a well down to” it. However, this passage does demonstrate that Tolkien

accorded this “reservoir” controlling power in how one experiences the “forms” of

everything in the created order. It also suggests that within this “reservoir” resides

“potential” for future creations of beauty. In a different, less pagan manner, these same

ideas seem to reappear in the workings of Eä.

The Telos of Enchantment

In “The Music and the Task,” as already mentioned, Flieger discourses on the purposes

for which Ilúvatar created Elves and Men. Using an idea that can be traced back to

Aristotle, she considers these races in terms of their “teleological end” (14), discusses

their “teleology” in terms of “purpose” and “fulfillment” (14), and recognizes that

Tolkien’s grand narrative is progressing toward a final “telos” (36). Or, as she also says,

Middle-earth moves towards an “intended but unforeseen apotheosis,” or a progression

“from what it is to what it has the potential to be” (37). This (as is evident by its repeated

use above) is known as the concept of telos, which refers to the “purpose, goal, or final

end” of something, a quality Aristotle believed applies to all things in existence. An acorn

is one example of this idea; inherent in its seed is the telos of becoming an oak tree

(Clayton). Christian thought would agree with this concept, arguing that God has

designed all parts of his creation with a certain telos as part of their being, according to

which they are intended to act or develop.

One sees this idea especially throughout the writings of Tolkien collected by his

son in Morgoth’s Ring. In one of these, entitled “Aman,” he addresses specifically the

relation of Elves, men, animals, and plants to existence in the realm of the Valar. Here,

Tolkien is concerned primarily with the different natures of these various groups, which


one might otherwise refer to as their teloi. Of the animals and plants, he writes that “each

kind had, as on Earth, its own nature and natural speed of growth,” and later states that in

this realm “no creatures suffered any sickness or disorder of their natures” (426). Instead,

“all things [came] at last to fullness of form and virtue” (427). This final statement may

be significant, since for Aristotle, “form” is “The way that [matter] is put together so that

the whole it constitutes can perform its characteristic functions” (Cohen). When an object

achieves its telos, as Aristotle wrote, “then it is in its form” (qtd. in Cohen). Tolkien’s

description of this achievement as “fullness of form” only serves to underscore the sense

of an inherent goal towards which this development has progressed until completion.

This text likewise addresses certain aspects of specifically Elven nature or telos—

such as their unique relation to time (425-6) —and also mentions them reaching their

“full maturity” (427), which is just another reference to the “fullness of form” already

discussed. Little else needs to be said here on the nature of Elves and Men, save that

Tolkien in this text equates their nature to the “‘doom’ of Eru,” which even the Valar

“could not alter” (427). This “doom,” as another word for “fate,” is the same as has

already been explored in Ilúvatar’s purposes for Elves and Men. Tolkien proceeds to

show that, by these respective natures, Elves may reside in the realm of the Valar and not

be harmed by the longevity that is bestowed to all creatures in that realm; however, men

cannot, since their fate is to pass “beyond the world” (MR 427-30; S 41).

Other texts as well address this idea that all creatures possess an inherent nature

special to their own kind, though perhaps most of Tolkien’s thoughts on the matter come

concerning the Elves. These examples are long and intricate in their examinations, but

considering them at length to draw out Tolkien’s concentration on telos will not be


necessary. That Tolkien spends an extraordinary amount of time attempting to clarify the

implications of Elven nature provides ample evidence that the subject figured importantly

in his mind. These instances of his thought include the texts: “Laws and Customs Among

the Eldar” (MR 207-33), “Of Finwë and Míriel” (MR 205-7, 233-71), and the

“Athrabeth” (MR 303-66).

With the discussion that Flieger devotes to telos, one may wonder if the purpose

for which the created order was designed might relate in any way to the Music that

Flieger also examines, especially when one considers that the creation is an outworking

of the Music. This would be an accurate insight, but one that must also be clarified. Three

different types of this telos may actually be identified in Tolkien’s cosmology. They are:

Arda Unmarred, Arda Marred, and Arda Healed. The first of these has never existed in

actuality; it refers to what Arda would have been and how it would have operated had

Morgoth not sown discord in the original Music (MR 405).

In the case of the Finwë and Míriel story, considerations of Arda Unmarred play a

large role in the great debate in the council of the Valar, where a decision must be

reached to decide whether Finwë should be permitted to remarry after the death of Míriel,

his wife. For Manwë, lord of the Valar, states that “Healing must retain ever the thought

of Arda Unmarred,” and he wishes that Finwë would have chosen for his part to walk act

according to this telos (MR 240).22 Ultimately, however, the council chooses to give full

weight to the reality of Arda Marred, and to shape their judgment accordingly: In the

original design, death would not have occurred, thus it would have been “unnatural” for

22 Though again, “telos” as a term is never mentioned, either in this instance or in any other of

Tolkien’s fiction.


Elves to take a second spouse. Yet because the marring of Arda did bring the possibility

of death, the nature of the Elves does not prohibit remarriage, though the Valar might

counsel against it. Thus, one finds here two different forms of telos at work

simultaneously.

A third form of telos is also present in Arda, one that looks “beyond the world.”

For even if the first Music had not been marred by Morgoth, Tolkien suggests that it still

would have been incomplete, necessitating the Second Music to bring ultimate

fulfillment. Of that time, he writes: “Then the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played aright . .

. for all shall then understand fully his intent in their part” (S 16). The implication is that

in the first Music, the performers did not yet “understand fully.” This accords with

Flieger’s observation that Tolkien’s creation is moving towards a future “apotheosis” —

one not expressed in the first Music, for it is marred; and one not even identical to the

hypothetical, unmarred Music, for, as Finrod says, “Arda Healed shall not be Arda

Unmarred, but a third thing and a greater” (MR 318). As argued earlier, the creative

activity of Man is already shaping this future world. Thus, one must also agree that this

future telos is present in the current state of things as well.

Ultimately, though, all three forms of this telos must be said to reside in the mind

of Ilúvatar. This may be seen in how the criteria for the Music’s final fulfillment is “his

intent.” He is also depicted as teaching the Ainur the original theme which they would

play, though they were given the opportunity of “adorning” it, “each with his own

thoughts and devices” (S 15). Moreover, as Eru overcomes the discord thrust into the

Music, he declares to Morgoth that “no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost

source in me” —Ilúvatar has so wrought his Music that Morgoth’s chords, meant to cause


disharmony, are instead woven into the larger theme to produce even greater beauty (S

17).

Ilúvatar, then, is the ultimate source of all three Musics—the intended Music (yet

never realized), the first Music (marred by Morgoth), and the Second Music (which will

fulfill all). As discussed earlier, Ilúvatar indwells his creation through the Flame, which is

“the mystery of ‘authorship.’” This indwelling provides a plausible vehicle whereby each

of these forms of telos are conferred upon the many different elements of creation, as the

author himself tells the story he has written. Such an overarching telos, then, functions as

a guide whereby Ilúvatar’s creatures work out his Music.

The Dunamis of Enchantment

Flieger has argued that one needs some kind of mechanism for change by which the

world is moved towards its telos or apotheosis—so not only is it necessary that all things

have an ultimate goal or purpose, there must also be some power by which that purpose is

achieved. It has already been suggested that telos provides the guidance whereby the

Children work through Enchantment or creativity to achieve the world’s apotheosis. Yet

is seems as if the Flame may also be active in this aspect of sub-creation as well—in

addition to its role as guide and originator of the materials used to fashion new beauty.

The suggestion that the Flame so participates comes from the Waldman letter,

where Tolkien writes of how “the wheels of the world” are “turned” by “the secret life in

creation, and . . . the intrusions of the Children of God into the Drama” (Letters 149).

(After the long examination of conjunctive sub-creation, one may now see the

significance of this pairing.) Here Tolkien seems to mean that there is something inherent


in nature that propels the progression of history. This sense appears in other writings as

well, and leads to another one of Tolkien’s major themes: the idea of change.

One reference to this idea comes with the late revisions that Tolkien was

considering for his creation myth, where he toyed with the relation between the Valar’s

work and the change which is inevitable in the Earth. He writes: “Now one of the objects

of the Trees (as later of the Jewels) was the healing of the hurts of Melkor, but this could

easily have a selfish aspect: the staying of history – not going on with the Tale. This

effect it had on the Valar” (MR 377).23 In a different context, Tolkien reiterates the

change-concept in one of his footnotes: “For it is indeed of the nature of Eä and the Great

History that naught may stay unchanged in time, and things which do so, or appear to do

so, or endeavor to remain so, become a weariness, and are loved no longer (or are at best

unheeded)” (MR 382).

This latter quote suggests there is something in the nature of things that moves

them onward—arguably, the “secret life in creation.” Any attempt to halt change is to

work against nature, and is therefore detrimental. As has been seen, resistance to change

was the same shortcoming of the Elven rings, which were intended for “the prevention or

slowing of decay (i.e., ‘change’ viewed as a regrettable thing)” (Letters 152). Like

23 This idea of a deficiency in the Valar was not Tolkien’s final word on the matter. Elsewhere, he

advances a different notion, writing: “This appearance of selfish fainéance in the Valar in the mythology is

. . . I think only an ‘appearance.’” He proceeds to suggest that the perspective of fault was introduced

somewhere in the process of composing these myths, which are actually tales by Men that have been

derived from the Elves; the myths are thus “two stages removed from a true record” (401). However, one

need not accept the deficient-Valar version of the story as final to extract the principle contained within.


Tolkien’s thoughts on the Valar above, the Elves were attempting to exercise a minor

“staying of history,” impeding the progress of things towards their ultimate telos, and

thus working against the inherent nature of what they sought to preserve. This is why

Tolkien writes of this venture that “the Elves came their nearest to falling to ‘magic’ and

machinery” (Letters 152). These examples seem to show that change is inevitable, and

often will occur even independent of the actions of Elves or Men; something must

therefore be driving this change aside from merely “the intrusions of the Children of God

into the Drama.”

This progression towards apotheosis may be compared to another of Aristotle’s

philosophical ideas, that of dunamis. According to Cohen,

Aristotle distinguishes between two different senses of the term dunamis. In the

strictest sense, a dunamis is the power that a thing has to produce a change . . . So,

for example, the housebuilder’s craft is a power whose exercise is the process of

housebuilding. But there is a second sense of dunamis . . . that might be better

translated as ‘potentiality’ . . . A dunamis in this sense is not a thing’s power to

produce a change but rather its capacity to be in a different and more completed

state.

This “more completed state” is also associated with telos, as Cohen later states: “Things

that come to be move toward an end (telos) —the boy becomes a man, the acorn becomes

an oak—and ‘the actuality is the end [telos], and it is for the sake of this that the

potentiality [dunamis] is acquired . . .’” The idea of conjunctive sub-creativity may thus

be understood in terms of dunamis: Kindled souls, like the housebuilder referenced

above, posses a “power . . . to produce a change,” while simultaneously, the Flame


Imperishable represents a dunamis latent within the created order, providing the

“potentiality” for things to progress towards their ultimate telos. Again, this progression

towards apotheosis is necessary. As Tolkien writes, “Mere change as such is not

represented as ‘evil’: it is the unfolding of the story and to refuse this is of course against

the design of God” (Letters 236).

Finally, this idea of two active powers that work conjunctively for “the effoliation

and multiple enrichment of creation” also appears in Tolkien’s completed version of “On

Fairy-stories,” as well as in “Leaf by Niggle.” In the former, one finds the already quoted

passage that speculates: “All tales may come true” —a statement which has been shown

to apply to all craftmanship, not only tales. However, before they may “come true,” they

must first be “redeemed.” This event will also alter them: “they may be as like and unlike

the forms we give them” after their redemption occurs (OFS 79). Tolkien is here

describing a two-fold process: Man creates stories; God “redeems” them or causes them

to come into their fullest form.

This description fits well with the claim that Tolkien’s Flame Imperishable was

meant to replace the “occult power in nature” that he had earlier considered. In Middle-

earth, as has been said, the Flame Imperishable is meant to represent God, whose power

in “On Fairy-stories” is seen to alter the forms of things to bring them to completion.

Similarly, Tolkien describes his “occult power” in transformative terms; it can “change

the visible forms” of things. Tolkien also seems to speak with longing when he describes

“driv[ing] a well down to this reservoir” of power within nature to reach “a boundless

wealth of forms of things never before known” (OFS 270). His desire for this reservoir of

beauty seems to have been fulfilled in his thoughts about Heaven, where such


transformative work could be recognized as the prerogative of God, thus avoiding the

fear of heresy.

Of course, any discussion of Tolkien’s thoughts on Heaven should certainly

include “Leaf by Niggle.” As with “On Fairy-stories,” conjunctive subcreation may also

be seen in this story through the lens of God’s involvement in the artistic endeavor:

Niggle’s tree is both “like and unlike” that which he had imagined on earth, for while

everything appeared perfectly as he had once imagined, still more details adorned the real

tree than he had been able to envision in his life. Segura argues that the tree’s completion

reflects the “redemption” that Tolkien discusses in “On Fairy-stories.” It is a “gift,” a

“grace” which Niggle has been given, the fulfillment of a task he could not fulfill on his

own (Segura 329-32).

Though he does not draw any connections to Middle-earth, Segura recognizes

there are two creative powers at work in the story: Niggle paints, God completes. As he

says, “grace counts on human co-operation to bear fruit” (329). Segura’s exploration of

“Leaf by Niggle” demonstrates that the active presence of God is vital for artistic

creativity, so much so that he argues, “we must expand the notion of God not ‘only’ as

Creator, but more precisely as the Sub-creator” (318). Or, to use terms discussed earlier,

one might say that not only does God bring forth the raw materials of Creation, he is also

constantly active in their development towards apotheosis. Again, this divine presence

not only provides the goal towards which things progress, but also propels them along

their journey.


The Growth of Enchantment

Not only are the means (dunamis) and the ultimate goal (telos) of this change important,

but also the process by which that change takes place is integral to Tolkien’s conception

of Enchantment. Some small mention has already been made of the link between

Coleridge and Tolkien in terms of their views on the creative imagination. Of the specific

term for this coined by Tolkien, Milburn writes, “‘this sub-creative art . . .’ can be none

other than Coleridge’s secondary imagination, which “dissolves, diffuses, dissipates, in

order to re-create” (60). Moreover, Milburn connects the magical powers of Tolkien’s

fairies to Coleridge’s “synthetic and magical power, to which we have exclusively

appropriated the name of imagination” (Coleridge 226; Milburn 62). In using this

creative power, Coleridge states: “The poet, described in ideal perfection, brings the

whole soul of man into activity” (226). One will recall that Tolkien likewise focused on

the soul as the center of creativity, quite literally according it “magical power” in the case

of his Elves.

The connection between these two authors is important because Coleridge held to

an organic theory of creativity. As Richter states:

The broad principle to which Coleridge appeals is that of organic form . . . he

contrasts the merely mechanical form that it is possible to impose upon materials

with the organic form that grows out of the nature of the materials themselves.

. . . If organic form is implicit in his definition of ‘poem,’ it is even more

obvious that the distinction between organic and mechanical form is essentially

that between imagination and fancy. Organicism is an essential characteristic of


the workings of the secondary imagination in recreating an idealized, unified, and

coherent fictive universe. (221)

If, as Richter argues, organicism is the “essential characteristic” of Coleridge’s views on

the creative imagination, then one might expect organicism to likewise figure into

Tolkien’s own views on sub-creativity, given the connection between the imagination and

the sub-creative already established by Milburn.

To explore this hypothesis, one might first examine Richter’s distinction between

“merely mechanical form” on the one hand, which can be “impose[d]”, and the “organic

form” on the other. Immediately, mention of the mechanical suggests comparison to

Tolkien’s symbol of the Machine used for domination; in Coleridge’s case, the

mechanical form similarly acts to “impose” upon the text. Richter also argues that the

mechanical characterizes Coleridge’s definition of “Fancy” which, in contrast to the

imagination, cannot creatively integrate ideas into “an idealized, unified, and coherent

fictive universe.” Instead, as Richer explains, “Fancy . . . is an inferior activity,” one

“describable in purely Lockean terms as the willful conjunction of ideas that are normally

distinct (like placing an elephant’s head on the body of a camel)” (220). If such inartistic

combinations are taken to be the usual purview of Fancy, then this term by Coleridge

may easily be compared to the idea of dissonance, which is understandably also a major

consideration of Tolkien, as the brokenness in Arda proceeds from discord sown in the

Music.

Milburn treats with Coleridge’s idea of Fancy as well, citing Barfield’s

interpretation of the term. In this view, Fancy may not be harmful per se, but may still

become “debased,” withering creativity. The imagination, which Coleridge describes as


“vital [i.e., living],” is not active under a “debased” fancy, and so any potential, true

creativity is made “essentially fixed and dead” (Coleridge 222; Milburn 63). In this

scenario, it would seem that the only productions of Fancy would be the horrible

dissonances suggested by Richter above.

Such a sterility of former creative powers is explicitly depicted in the character of

Morgoth, who could create “naught that had life of its own, nor the semblance thereof . . .

since his rebellion in the Ainulindalë before the Beginning” (S 48). As Christopher

Tolkien comments, Morgoth “could only corrupt what was already living” (MR 123).

This limitation seems to have extended beyond the normal inability of the Valar to make

soul-endowed creatures, including instead plant and animal life as well. Through his Fall,

his creative abilities became “barren” —he could not even produce biological offspring of

his own (MR 405). In effect, he became “fixed and dead,” only able to produce a

mockery of sub-creative activity, twisting things already in existence into a dissonance,

but never able to achieve independent, unified, artistic creations. Tolkien writes that

“even left alone he could only have gone raging on till all was leveled again into formless

chaos” (396).

By contrast, the view of Enchantment that has been steadily argued for throughout

this discussion coincides nicely with what one would expect if Tolkien meant for

beneficent magical abilities to be seen through the lens of organic creativity and

development. When one reads that, for Coleridge, the “form” a poem takes (i.e., specific

rhyme scheme, meter, and so on) is “organic” when it “grows out of the nature of the

materials themselves” (Richter 221), one finds something quite similar to the function of

telos and dunamis in Middle-earth, where the change and development of each thing is


somehow related to what that thing is internally. Just as Coleridge’s organic form does

not force its content into written structures that would be unnatural to it, while the

“merely mechanical form” does, so also is the difference between Enchantment and

Magic, the latter of which operates by what Tolkien calls the “domination and tyrannous

re-forming of Creation” (Letters 146).

This “tyrannous re-forming” may be likened to the twisted, “debased” form of

Fancy discussed above. This is Magic, and, as Hart indicates, it acts as a dark mirror to

sub-creative activity (46-7), even “re-forming” the created order as Enchantment does

through analysis and recombination. The major divergence between these two terms is

that Magic is “tyrannous” in performance: It forces its own will upon the object of its

power. As the opposite to this practice, Enchantment must therefore be not-tyrannous,

using its power in a way that accords with the nature of its object; or, as Coleridge might

say, the Imagination creates new, unified form according to the nature of its materials.

Hart would seem to agree. In contrast to “mere ‘magic,’” he writes, “genuine sub-creative

art . . . while it may result in secondary realities which are wholly unlike the “Primary

World,” is nonetheless always faithful to that same world and issues from a love of and

respect for it” (49).

This distinction between good and evil uses of the world helps to explain why

concern about environmental issues appears so often throughout Tolkien’s work. Tolkien

is not just concerned about powers that would dominate free willed, rational individuals

like Elves and Men (though he probably would consider such domination to be the

greatest evil). For Tolkien, nature itself can be dominated in a way that does not align

with wholesome development. Curry indicates this point when he references Tolkien’s


statement in “On Fairy-stories” that “the story-maker who allows himself to be ‘free with

nature’ can be her lover not her slave” (OFS 69). For Curry, this means treating nature as

something “other” than oneself (MVE 6), as a “subject” of unique existence in its own

right (MVE 8), and not merely as an object to be used towards some other end. And lest

one think that Curry, as a modern day pagan and astrologer, has taken Tolkien’s text too

far than can bear up under examination, Tolkien himself writes that his Elves were

intended to “have a devoted love of the physical world, and a desire to observe and

understand it for its own sake and as ‘other’ – sc. as a reality from God in the same

degree as themselves – not as material for use or as a power-platform” (Letters 236).

Here, one must again briefly return to Coleridge’s statement that “all objects (as

objects) are essentially fixed and dead” (222). Milburn, again paraphrasing Barfield,

suggests that when the created order is treated as merely an object in this way, “anything

that cannot be considered in such terms is denied even to exist” (63). This, Milburn

argues, is what Tolkien meant when he wrote about Faery as deliverance from a mindset

that focuses only on what may be “known, possessed, controlled” and which therefore

views such things as “all that is worth being considered” (Smith 144; Milburn 63). Such

was the mindset of Morgoth, arguably the prime exemplar of “debased” Fancy, which is

characterized by “a vast demiurgic lust for power and achievement of his own will and

designs, on a great scale.” He is so consumed with viewing matter as simply an object to

further his personal goals that, as Tolkien writes, “It is probable that he was simply

unaware of the minor or more delicate productions of Yavanna [one of the Valar]: such

as small flowers” (MR 395).


Flowers, of course, contribute little to any aspirations for world domination. By

contrast, Tolkien writes in his essay that creative fantasy or sub-creation—what he

elsewhere describes as the human counterpart to elvish Enchantment24—actually works

to return this sense of otherness back to nature: “The gems all turn to flowers or flames,

and you will be warned that all you had (or knew) was dangerous and potent . . . free and

wild; no more yours than they were you” (OFS 68; Milburn 62-3). Here, the

transformation of “gems” is an obvious depiction of the analysis and recombination of

sub-creative activity. Tolkien pairs this event with the recognition on the part of the artist

that nature is a subject in itself; all supposed objects “are no more yours than they were

you.” Moreover, he writes that nature is “dangerous and potent,” suggesting a power for

change and development all of its own (which one might call organic, as natural to

itself), where the objects themselves become actors, and “all the locked things fly away

like cage-birds” (OFS 68).

Fantasy, Enchantment, sub-creation—these are essentially organic, growing from

the natures of their materials. As such, their products actually give a clearer view into the

inherent natures of what they have transformed. As Tolkien says, “By the forging of

Gram cold iron was revealed; by the making of Pegasus horses were ennobled; in the

Trees of the Sun and Moon root and stock, flower and fruit are manifested in glory” (OFS

68). True creative power does not bend the created order to suit its own will; rather, it

wills that the created order be fulfilled. In this example, the sword Gram is an organic

development of “cold iron,” for Gram does not distort iron’s inherent nature, but rather

24 “To the elvish craft, Enchantment, Fantasy aspires, and when is successful of all forms of

human art most nearly approaches” (OFS 64).


“reveals” it in a way hitherto unknown. The same may be said of Pegasus and the Trees

of the Sun and Moon. This type of activity represents, as Milburn also notes, “a love and

respect for all things, ‘inanimate’ [like Gram] and ‘animate’ [like Pegasus and the

Trees],’ an unpossessive love of them as ‘other’” (Smith 144; Milburn 62).

At this point, one may return briefly to the question of Sam’s rope. The

suggestion was made earlier that its ability to untie itself could possibly stem from some

small power woven within it by the Elves. Where this power comes from—whether by

elven fëa or some other source—was left unexplored. Perhaps indeed the Enchantment of

those items crafted by the Elves is lit by some spark of their souls, causing their works to

surpass all creative capacities of Man. Tolkien’s focus, however, seems to center on the

nature of these crafted objects themselves, rather than on the magical powers that imbue

them with their abilities. The sword Gram, for example, is certainly a magical instance of

sub-creative art. Yet one would be hard-pressed to describe just how its powers work, and

where exactly those powers come from. The focus is rather on how it has been

transformed by sub-creativity and “revealed” (OFS 68). Likewise, the parallel structures

describing the other two items alongside Gram speak of things being “ennobled” and

“manifested in glory” (OFS 68). Again, this is a depiction of movement towards greater

fulfillment and higher development, a movement not limited to merely technical

progress, but rather including the growth of something wonderous.

One may view Sam’s rope—and most (if not all) objects of elven artistry—in a

similar light. To follow the creative process already established, the elven fëa would

bring to bear its innate power when crafting this gift for Sam, working in conjunction

with the power of the Flame. In keeping with the above examination of Gram, one may


furthermore conclude that questions about a source of power for the rope’s abilities are

now obsolete. Gram is not just any sword with magical powers tacked onto it; rather it is

iron “ennobled.” The same may be said of Sam’s rope: through the elven craft, rope has

become “manifested in glory.” Its nature has been raised to a new form. Its powers are

not an unnatural addition to an ordinary object; rather, they are abilities that flow from

the rope’s development. This sub-creative development is organic, and as such, any

powers that emerge must necessarily be natural to the object itself.

Tolkien’s Enchanted Tale

So far, argument has been made that Tolkien’s comparisons between Enchantment and

stories may also be extended to all forms of art and craftsmanship. Yet through

Coleridge, attention may be drawn back to stories in themselves. It was his idea of the

imagination that influenced Tolkien’s views about art. Moreover, Coleridge was focused

specifically on the poet and the poet’s corresponding creative activity—with the

imagination therefore as it is translated into speech. Tolkien also writes that “Fantasy . . .

of all forms of human art most nearly approaches” the power of Enchantment possessed

by the Elves (OFS 64). This “Fantasy,” of course, is only a specific mode of story. From

this statement and other aspects of Tolkien’s work, one finds that there is a sense in

which extending the term “Enchantment” to apply to all forms of art is not really a

broadening of definition at all, but rather a narrowing. All of these modes of sub-

creation—be they tale-making, jewel-crafting, painting, weaving, blacksmithing, or any

other—are themselves only elements within the tale of history itself. In this sense, every

aspect of reality is Story. This was an important idea for Tolkien; in the endnotes to “On

Fairy-stories,” he writes of how each individual tale is only a “fragment” taken from “the


seamless Web of Story” which is assumed to continue on even after the human author has

laid down his pen.

The same discussion reappears in The Two Towers, where Sam has been talking

about the legends of Middle-earth. Suddenly, realization strikes him:

“Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s still going on. Don’t the great

tales never end?”

“No, they never end as tales,” said Frodo, “But the people in them come, and

go when their part’s ended.” (TT 697)

Self-conscious recognitions of Story are more than just “a gentle running joke” or “mere

playfulness,” as Flieger recognizes in one of her essays (TIB 41-2). Tolkien would later

reference this scene with Sam in a letter to his son, Christopher: “For myself, I was prob.

most moved by Sam’s disquisition on the seamless web of story” (Letters 110) —which

of course identifies this scene in the same terms used in “On Fairy-stories.” In Tolkien’s

cosmology, this “seamless web” is known as “the Great Tale” and is the result of the

Flame’s authorship as it indwells Eä. Comments about stories (like Sam’s, for example),

may very well be intended as a joke, but yet they also transcend the level of humor to

communicate a deep, theological significance that Tolkien felt about the real world and

translated into the fictional world of his work.

In an earlier letter to Christopher, he envisions human lives similarly to Sam, as

smaller tales that together constitute a larger one. As he says, “in some such way, we

shall all doubtless survey our own story when we know it (and a great deal more of the

Whole Story).” (Letters 107). Such a desire to “survey” the Great Tale of his own world

echoes what he describes as one of the “primordial human desires” at the heart of Faërie:


“to survey the depths of space and time” (OFS 34-5). Such knowledge of the Tale is one

of the main functions of the Elves in Arda Marred, especially due to their longevity

which provides them millennia upon millennia to experience the outworking of the Story,

and to remember. This is why Finrod will say of the Elves that “in memory is our great

talent” (MR 319). No one perhaps demonstrates this statement so well as Legolas, who

reveals that Elves do not sleep as human do, but rather enter their dreams to rest (TT 418-

9). As Stoddard writes,

What is he dreaming of? Even human dreams are often memories, in fragmentary

form; being consciously entered, Elven dreams must be less fragmentary, and

Elves can dwell in them more fully than human beings can, so that whatever

memories they hold are closer to a living, present experience. (154)

Even biologically then, Elves were designed for memory. Furthermore, Finrod concludes

that this part of Elven nature must indicate in some way what the purpose of their race

will be after the ending of Arda. In this text and elsewhere, Tolkien suggests that their

fate (or fulfillment) will be in “surveying” the old Arda as a Tale, completed and whole,

and that their purpose in the new Arda will be to sing the stories of that old world to Men

(MR 319-20, 405).

And of course, in this time Men will be working out the Second Music and

bringing Ilúvatar’s new Tale to pass. In the core of their beings, Tolkien has made Story

integral to his Elves and Men.

The Spell

With this knowledge, then, one may better understand what Tolkien meant by placing his

Elves in Middle-earth “to demonstrate the difference” between Magic and true artistry


(Letters 146). They are intended as much more than just a passing note on how the arcane

powers of his world function. As Hart points out, Tolkien once wrote of his work that

“the whole matter from beginning to end is mainly concerned with the relation of creation

and making to sub-creation” (Letters 188). According to Hart, this statement reflects “a

sustained, self-conscious and deliberate concern with a singular theological and aesthetic

question . . . in terms of which his oeuvre as a whole, therefore, might be made sense of”

(40). This question of how the activity of creatures relates to the Creator, as a unifying

principle to Tolkien’s work, also underlies the idea of a Great Tale with parts that each

individual has been assigned to play within it. Indeed, the two ideas are inherently

similar, as the essential link between the Tale and sub-creation has been demonstrated

already. The Enchantment and sub-creative activity of the Elves, then, as elements of the

Great Tale and God’s creation, possess immense significance.

Moreover, Tolkien draws attention to how these masterful sub-creators, workers

of power for the formation of beauty, are even sub-creations themselves—Elves are just

another invention by Men (OFS 64). Here one encounters what Flieger calls “sub-sub-

creation” (TIB 43), though in this context, Tolkien’s aim is higher and deeper than the

scholarly conceit Flieger discusses in her essay. The Story consciously contemplated by

Tolkien multiplies, reflects, and echoes through all: He himself was created with his own

story in the Great Tale of God; all of his deeds become actions in that story. One such

deed is to weave the world of his Elves, creatures from whom he says, “we may learn

what is the central desire and aspiration of human Fantasy – even if the elves are, all the

more in so far as they are, only a product of Fantasy itself” (OFS 64). In so far as they

are, he writes. The Elves are story themselves, fashioned as masters of sub-creation


because they are fashioned out of Man’s own desire to create, to produce story within

their own history created by God. In turn, the Elves—creating, composing, enchanting,

performing the Music—produce story themselves.

If the Great Tale is a “seamless web,” as Tolkien suggests, it must also be a three-

dimensional one, stretching from God himself through Tolkien to the hand of Fëanor

crafting the Silmarils, as well as all other characters besides. Tolkien’s words, perhaps,

summarize the connection between Enchantment and the Tale better than anything else.

He writes: “Small wonder that spell means both a story told, and a formula of power”

(OFS 48). For him, both parts of this definition combine to reflect the fantastic abilities of

the Elves and other creatures of Middle-earth, forming the core of his vision for his sub-

created world.


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Appendix: List of Abbreviations

“The Curious Incident of the Dream at the Barrow” CI

“Fantasy and Reality” FR

The Fellowship of the Ring FOTR

A Hobbit Journey HJ

From Homer to Harry Potter HHP

The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien Letters

“Magic vs. Enchantment” MVE

Morgoth’s Ring MR

“The Music and the Task” [2009] MT [2009]

“The Music and the Task” [2012] MT [2012]

“On Fairy-Stories” OFS

The Peoples of Middle-earth PME

The Return of the King ROTK

The Silmarillion S

“Tolkien and the Idea of the Book” TIB

The Two Towers TT

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